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THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 



/ 



THL CANTERBURY 
PILGRIMAGES 



BY 



H. SNOWDEN WARD 

KUITOR OF "the PHOTOGRAM " ; AUTHOR OF "SHAKESPEARE'S TOWN AKD TIMES, 
"THE RKAL DICKENS LAND," ETC. 



WITH FIFTY FULL -PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS, PHOTOGRAPHED 

BY CATHARINE WEED BARNES WARD, AS WELL AS 

THREE SKETCH MAPS AND MANY WOOD-CUTS 

IN THE TEXT 




Caput Thumae 
Onf <\f the UaiUri PUgrhnt' Hijia, 



PHILADELPHIA 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

LONDON: ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 
1905 



** . . . From every shires end 
Of Engeland, to Canterbury they wend, 
The holy, blissful martyr for to seek." 



CONTENTS 



For him was liever have at his bed's head 
Tweenty bookes clad in black or red 
Than robes rich, or fiddle, or gay psaltrie." 



PA.OB 

xi 



CHAPTLU 

Introduction . • • • 

I. Thomas of London . . • • 

II. Whom the King delighteth to Honour 

III. The Contest in the Kingdom : Church versu 

Crown . • • • • 

IV. The Martyrdom . • • • 
V. Miracles and Canonisation 

VI. The Cult of St Thomas: Pilgrims and Pit 

GRIMACES . • • • • 

VII. Geoffrey Chaucer and his Works . 
VIII. Chaucer's Pilgrims: Men of the World 
IX. Chaucer's Pilgrims: Men of the Church 
X. Tales of the First Day. To Dartford 
XI. Tales of the Second Day. Dartford to 

Rochester . . • - ■ .241 

XII. Tales of the Third Day. Rochester to 

Ospringe . . • • • - 253 

XIII. Tales of the Fourth Day . .270 

XIV. The Fall of the Cult of St Thomas . . 282 
XV. The Pilgrims' Ways: To-day . . - 293 

Index . . • • • • 3^3 



I 
15 

29 

67 
80 

100 
141 
152 
185 
219 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PRINTED SEPARATELY FROM THE TEXT 
Photographed by C. IV. Barnes Ward 

The Martyrdom of St Thomas 

Portion of Remains of Archbishops' Palace at 

Otford . • • 

In Canterbury Cathedral 
Some Pilgrims' Resting-Places in Canterbury 
Canterbury Cathedral and Part of Monastic 

Buildings, from Prior's Green . 
Christchurch Gate, Canterbury 
Remains of the Monks' Infirmary, Canterbury 
Cathedral . • • * 

Pilgrims' Signs and Moulds in the Museum 
Canterbury 

^H^r^r nask"^\he Museum, Canterbury 
Saltwood Castle • • * 

The Transept of the Martyrdom, Canterbury 
South Ambulatory of Crypt, Canterbury 
Cathedral . • • ' " 

In the Crypt of Canterbury Cathedral 
St Dunstan's Church, Canterbury 
The Site of the Shrine of St Thomas, Canter- 
bury Cathedral . • • * 
Winchester Cathedral, Remains of the Chapter- 
House . • • ' ■ 
Pilgrims' Entrance, West Wall of North 
Transept, Winchester Cathedral . • 
Pilcrr ms' Barrier, formerly at Top of South 
"Transept Steps, Winchester Cathedral . 
Churches on the Winchester Pilgrims' Way . 

St Catherine's (Pilgrims' p^Pf )' Gm^^f^^^ " 
A Grass-grown Piece of the Pilgrims Way . 



. Frontispi 


'ece 


Facmgpage 


8 


55 


i6 


51 


24 


») 


32 


?) 


40 


1) 


48 


55 


56 


51 


64 


55 


68 


55 


72 


55 


80 


55 


88 



\ 



104 



112 



14 



120 



Vlll 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



" The Pilgrims' Church," Compton, Surrey 

Wrotham : Church and Part of Archbishops 
Palace .... 

Maidstone, from the South-West 

Geoffrey Chaucer 

Tomb of Geoffrey Chaucer, Westminster 
Abbey 

Pilgrimage to Canterbury 

Do. 

The Cloisters, Canterbury 

Chapel of " Our Lady of the Undercroft," in 
the Crypt, Canterbury Cathedral . 

Pilgrims' Stair to Shrine, North Side of Choir 

"The Chair of St Augustine," Canterbury 
Cathedral . 

The Guesten Hall, Winchester 
Entrance to the Abbot's Lodging (now the 
Deanery), Winchester 

Part of Roof of Guesten Hall, Winchester 
The West Gate, Winchester . 
God-begot House, Winchester 

Gateway Building (Interior), Hyde Abbey, 
Winchester ... 

Scenes on the Winchester Pilgrims' Way 

Remains of Boxley Abbey 

The (London) Pilgrims' Way, near Swans 
combe 

The Pilgrims' Way from London, skirting 
Cobham Park 

Side Gateway, Davington Priory 
Davington Priory, near Faversham 

Portions of Ancient Hospice, on both sides 
of Water Lane, Ospringe 

The Last Stage of the Winchester Way, down 

Harbledown Hill . 
The Black Prince's Well, Harbledown 
Canterbury from Harbledown Hill 
Gates and Guest-Houses of Canterbury 
Winchester Cathedral, from the South-East 
Ancient Hostelry at Compton, Surrey 
Ciderhouse Cottages, Guildford 



Facing page 1 32 

136 
138 

144 

150 
152 
152 

„ 160 

168 
176 

184 
192 

„ 200 

208 

„ 216 

224 
232 

240 

248 
256 

264 

272 

278 

288 

» 294 

296 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



IX 



Otford, Church and Remains of Archbishops' 

St Thomas's Well, Otford 
Kit's Coty House .... 

Part of the Tithe Barn, Maidstone 
Charing Church, and Remains of Archbishops' 
Palace ..... 
Charing : Part of the Archbishops' Palace . 



PRINTED IN THE TEXT 
From the Ellesmere MS. 
Chaucer 
The Knight 
The Squire 
The Merchant . 
The Shipman . 
The Sergeant-at-Law 
The Franklin . 
The Wife of Bath 
The Cook 

The Doctor of Physic 
The Miller 
The Reeve 
The Prioress 
The Second Nun 
The Nun's Priest 
The Monk 
The Fxiar 
The Summoner. 
The Pardoner . 
The Manciple . 
The Clerk of Oxenford 
The Poor Parson 
The Cation's Yeoman 
Sketch Map of Maidstone District 
Sketch Map of Canterbury District 

Sketch Map of the Pilgrims' Way, from Winchester to 
at end of book. 



Facingpage 300 



304 

306 
308 



PAGE 

160 
162 
164 

168 

173. 

179 
182 

186 

189 

190 
191 
194 
196 

202 

211 
213 
215 
217 
302 



Canterbury, 



INTRODUCTION 

The breath of Spring blows fresh and sweet, the 
leaves grow soft and green, while high in heaven 
the hawk stoops to strike the lordly heron. 
Year after year it is the same, while Thomas of 
London climbs to towering heights — and falls. 

Pilgrims loiter through the Kentish fields and 
gardens, over the soft, short sward of the open 
Surrey downs ; while summoners, pardoners, and 
other mountebanks win their way by fraud. 
Century after century it is the same, while the 
Cult of Thomas the Martyr rises to towering 
heights — and falls. 

The Interest of this book centres around two 
great tragedies, the fall of Thomas the Arch- 
bishop ; and the fall of the worship of Thomas 
the Martyr. These are bound up with a part of 
a still greater tragedy ; the collapse of a grand 
religious movement, which, with all its human 
imperfections and shortcomings, had done a 
noble work for those who needed It most — the 
poor, the weak, the sorrowing. 

It is well that we should view these disasters 
under the guidance of that man who was essen- 
tially the poet of the Springtime, whose puppets 
move serenely under the very shadow of Impend- 
ing doom, and whose verse breathes of birds and 



xii INTRODUCTION 

sunshine, daisies and open air. He helps us to 
see how eternal and how indifferent to incidents 
are nature and human nature. He shows us 
that his monk and his pardoner, his wife of 
Bath and his prioress, his gentle knight and his 
poor parson are people we meet to-day under 
other names. And he preaches the resurrection 
and the life : not only for individuals, but for 
ideas, for thoughts, and for aspirations. He 
shows that though forms and circumstances 
change, though truth be veiled at times, the 
noble man will always be noble, the pure will 
always be pure. 



THE CANTERBURY 
PILGRIMAGES 

CHAPTER I 

THOMAS OF LONDON 

Thomas was born in London, on December 21, 
1 1 18, In a house standing upon the site now- 
occupied by the chapel of the Mercers' Company, 
on the north of Cheapslde. It was the Feast of 
St Thomas — which determined the name of the 
infant — and he was baptised at evensong on the 
day of his birth. In the church of his parish, St 
Mary Colechurch. His name is here given as 
Thomas, because there Is no contemporary 
authority for the surname ''a Becket " by which 
he Is generally called, and because although the 
surname Becket or Beket was applied to his 
father, it did not necessarily descend to the son, 
for in that day such a name was a personal, and 
not a family possession. In only three cases 
are contemporaries recorded as speaking of him 
as Becket. In the enormous majority of instances 
he is simply called Thomas, or, as he attained 
position, Thomas of London, Thomas the 
Chancellor, or, Thomas the Archbishop. 

' A 



2 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

His father was Gilbert Becket, the Norman, 
son of a Norman settler who came from Rouen, 
and of Matilda, a native of Caen. The mother's 
name is sometimes i^iven as Rose (Roesa or 
Rohesia), but the probability seems to be that 
Gilbert and Rose were the grandparents, and 
Gilbert and Matilda the parents of Thomas. 
The name of Rose was i^iven to a sister of 
Thomas, who survived him until about 1167, 
and to whom Henry II. i^ranted a pension at 
the time of his penance at the tomb of her 
murdered brother. 

Around the name of "Thomas a Becket" 
many interestini^ lei^^ends have arisen. The most 
persistent is that which tells the romantic adven- 
tures of his father in the Holy Land, and how on 
his return to PLnL^land he was followed by the 
dauL^hter of his paynim captor, who crossed the 
whole of Europe and the narrow seas guided by 
the two words —Gilbert ; London. This story of 
a maidenly devotion which had scarcely been 
deserved by Gilbert's desertion of his fair convert, 
was apparently unknown to the contemporaries 
of Thomas, and it seems to have been based 
upon a statement, made after his death, that he 
united the churches of the East and the West, 
and because of his adoption as the patron saint 
of the knights of Acre. 

There are stories — recorded not long after his 
martyrdom — of many miraculous occurrences 
accompanying the birth of Thomas. The story 
of the Saracen maiden is accompanied by an 
enthusiastic prophecy, said to have been spoken 
by the Bishop of Chichester when sitting with 
six other bishops, to decide whether Gilbert might 



THOMAS OF LONDON 3 

conscientiously marry the converted pagan ; there 
are tales of wonderful dreams which came to the 
mother of the child before his birth, and of a fire 
which broke out in his father's house on the day 
he was born, destroying not only his birthplace 
but also a good part of the city. All these 
things — including the very unfriendly omen of 
the conflagration — were supposed to have been 
sent especially to show that the child was to be a 
burning and a shining light, and a builder of 
churchesv Fortunately he knew nothing about 
these things, so that they did not affect his life ; 
and this is probably true of another story, 
although his friend and biographer, Herbert of 
Bosham, records it as from the lips of Thomas 
himself; — that when as a boy he lay sick of a fever, 
the Virgin Mary appeared unto him, promising 
recovery from the illness, and giving him two 
golden keys, which she said were the keys of 
paradise, thereafter to be in his keeping. These 
keys have also been connected with the churches 
of the East and the West, of which mention has 
been made. 

When ten years old, Thomas was taken to the 
Priory of St Mary's, at Mcrton, in Surrey, where 
he made one of his most valued and life-lono- 
attachments ; for Robert, the prior who was 
charged with his education, became his private 
confessor, and was one of the very few who stood 
by him to the last on the day of his murder. 
This Robert of Mcrton has told us that the 
personal life of Thomas was pure and upright, 
and that as a schoolboy he was bright and 
intelligent, with a great memory, but also with 
a preference for idleness and sport rather than 



4 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGRS 

for study. The facts, that when Thomas was 
consecrated archbishop he made Robert his 
chaplain, and that the Priory of Merton was 
visited and materially helped by Henry II. at 
Thomas's su<^^gestion, show that the bri;(ht boy 
long retained pleasant memories of his first 
school, and that gratitude had a place in his 
character. 

An occurrence which has a natural explana- 
tion, but which the chroniclers consider miraculous, 
was connected with the lad's love of sport. In 
this he was encouraged by Richer de I'Aigle, a 
wealthy knight or baron of Pevensey Castle, who 
stayed at the house of Gilbert Becket on his 
visits to London, and who took the l)()y to his 
Sussex home for at least one considerable visit. 
On one such occasion, while the two were hawk- 
ing, *'they came to a mill-stream spanned by 
naught save a plank. Richer, who went first, 
passed across the plank. Thomas came after, 
all hooded. But the foot of his horse slipjx^d, and 
he, with the horse as well, fell into the stream. 
Torn from his horse, he was drawn fast toward 
the mill-wheel. Just as he was bound to be 
dragged under the wheel, the miller turned off the 
water. The knight and his retinue followed with 
cries along the bank. Hearing their voices the 
miller came out, and dragged out Thomas half 
dead." 

This account is taken from two of the 
chroniclers, whose records supplement each other 
in certain small details. As shewing how a 
simple incident may become miraculous, it may be 
well to quote the same story from a third 
chronicler, Edward Grim, who was with Thomas 



THOMAS OF LONDON 5 

at his death, and who is notably and exactly- 
accurate whenever recording matters within his 
own knowledge. He writes : *' On a certain 
day, when Thomas was hawking with [Richer], 
the hawk, chasing a wild duck, and seizing it just 
as it dived, was itself pulled Into the water. The 
young man, sorry that the hawk should perish, 
leapt from his horse and threw himself into the 
stream. At once he was in danger, now sinking 
under the water, anon rising to the surface, and 
none was able to stretch him a hand. Toward 
the mill-wheel he was drawn by the rushing 
water, but just as he approached the outflow, the 
wheel stood, and moved Itself no more imtil, alive 
indeed, but greatly injured, the young man was 
pulled out. Hut the unfortunate youth was 
cherished by the healing hand of the Saviour, 
who In this time of danger would not allow the 
future light in Israel to be extinguished, from 
whose precious death we have seen so many 
benefits aj)pear." 

From Mcrton, Thomas went to one of the 
great schools in London, where the recognised 
sports of the boys included C(^ck-fighting and the 
roui^hest of football, and thence to Paris, where 
he remained until he was twenty-one. To this 
season in Paris has been assigned an occurrence 
which is probably only a later version of a vision 
already mentioned. It is told that when one of 
the fashionable feasts of love occurred, and all his 
school-fellows received presents from friends and 
sweethearts, Thomas alone had no such gift. 
He prayed to his Lady the Virgin for a token of 
her favour that might be shown to his fellows, and 
thereupon appeared nn the altar a casket con- 



6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

taining ecclesiastical ornaments, while a voice 
bade him use the gift when he should become a 
priest. One of the chronicles records the name 
of one of his school-fellows, Everlin, afterward 
Abbot of St Laurence, Liege, who dedicated an 
altar to St Thomas in memory of their school- 
days, while another old writer says that Ludolf, 
who became Archbishop of Magdeburg in ii94» 
was taught by Thomas, in Paris. Another man 
who was to become a fast friend and biographer - 
John of Salisbury — was studying in Paris during 
part of the time that Thomas was there, and it 
is possible that their acquaintance began in those 
student days, although the fact is not recorded. 

Of the instructors we are even more ignorant 
than of the fellow-students, though we know that 
one, Robert of Melun, "taught dialectic and the 
sacred page" in Paris at the time. He had John 
of Salisbury as one of his pupils, and at a later 
date he was invited to England by Henry II. at 
the instance of Thomas, who afterward preferred 
him to the Bishopric of Hereford. This was 
probably a second instance o( gratitude to a 
teacher. 

When Thomas was about twenty-one, his 
mother died. His father had been much reduced 
in worldly circumstances as the result of various 
fires, and the son became a clerk to one of his 
relatives, Osbern Huitdeniers, a very wealthy 
and influential merchant. He seems also to 
have been clerk in the portreeve's office, and it 
is recorded that he was for some time notary to 
Richer I'Aigle, his sporting friend, but this part 
of the career is not very certainly known. Prob- 
ably the supposed engagement with I'Aigle is an 



THOMAS OF LONDON 7 

error, founded on the story of their earlier 
friendship, and it is possible that Huitdenier held 
the office of portreeve during part (at least) of 
Thomas's service with him. From 1 140 to 1143 
he was engaged in commercial work, but shortly 
before November in the last-named year he had a 
stroke of good fortune which paved the way to 
his ultimate immense success. 

Amongst the visitors to the house of Gilbert 
were a certain Master Eustace of Boulogne, and 
his brother the Archdeacon Baldwin, who noted 
the ability of Thomas, and suggested that he 
should find a position in the service of Theobald, 
Archbishop of Canterbury. The application 
seems to have been made by Gilbert in person, 
who reminded the archbishop that they were 
both Normans, and natives of the same city.^ 
The candidate was further supported by a friend 
already in a lowly position in the archbishop's 
service, and, on the strength of this multiple 
recommendation, Thomas obtained a position in 
what was at the moment the most powerful and 
influential household in the kingdom. In those 
days of trouble between Stephen and Matilda, 
both claimants for the throne, only Henry, 
Bishop of Winchester, rivalled Theobald in 
political importance. 

Natural ability, added to the experience of 
affairs gained in the service of Huitdeniers and 
in the companionship of men like I'Aigle and the 
Archdeacon Baldwin, had fitted Thomas to be 

' " Tierrici villam " or Thiersy, in the account of Fitzstephen. But it 
is also suggested that the reminder was really of their connection with Bee 
Hellouin, where Theob:iid first becime a monk, and from which Gilbert 
may have taken liis surname, since Bccket is the diminutive of Bee. In 
any case, Thiersy is close to Bee. 



8 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

useful in a political household ; but for the first 
few years he owed more to his wonderful personal 
power of attracting those with whom he 
associated than to his recognised usefulness, for 
twice he was dismissed from the service owing to 
the malice and false representations of Roger 
Pont riwcque (afterward Archbishop of York), 
who seems to have become jealous of his 
popularity, but on each occasion was reinstated 
through the friendship of Walter, Archdeacon 
of Canterbury, brother oi the archbishop. 
Theobald had drawn around him many young 
men of great ability, so that his palace has been 
described as the "home and training College of 
a new generation of P^nglish scholars and 
English statesmen," and although Pont lEveque 
was unfriendly, at least two other members of the 
household in addition to Walter the archdeacon, 
soon recognised the sterling qualities of their new 
companion. These were Richard, then chaplain 
to Theobald, and after waril successor to Thomas 
as Archbishop of Canterbury, and John Belmeis, 
afterward Archbishop of Lyons. At first, 
Thomas, John, and Roger (Pont I'Eveque) had 
banded themselves together for mutual aid in 
securing those ambitious aims which they frankly 
admitted ; but as we have seen, Roger soon 
became jealc^us, and his enmity and emulation 
lasted through life, just as did the friendship of 
those whom Thomas attached to himself. 
Amongst such companions, and others who 
afterward occupied many of the most important 
sees in England, only supreme personal ability 
could find much recognition, yet very soon after 
joining the household Thomas was employed 




PORTION OF KKMAINS OF AKCHinSHOPS" PALACE AT OTFOKI-. 



THOMAS OF LONDON 9 

upon diplomatic services demanding great skill 
and tact. His personality was all In his favour. 
Unusually tall and powerful, handsome and 
manly, with strongly-marked features, fine 
prominent eyes, large, slightly aquiline nose, and 
hands of unusual softness and whiteness, he had 
abnormal quickness of sense, in sight, hearing, 
touch, and smell ; a peculiarity which remained 
with him to the last. His bearing was naturally 
majestic, his voice clear and resonant, his conver- 
sation alert and fluent, with great command of 
language, and his expression quickly changing 
from the animation of debate to an impressive 
calm in repose. 

Thomas early took minor orders, for he saw 
that the path to power lay through the Church, 
and his support was amply provided for by the 
gift of the livings of St Mary-in-the-Strand, and 
Sf Otford, in Kent, in 1143; and of prebendal 
stalls in St Paul's and in Lincoln before the end 
of I 1 54, in which year he was appointed Arch- 
deacon of Canterbury, and Provost of^ Beverley, 
to which were added many lucrative posts, 
actually filled, as was the custom, wllh Ill-paid 
deputies. 

Some time before this, however, Thomas had 
found the results of his partially neglected educa- 
tion, and had applied himself with great earnest- 
ness to such studies as should make him, at 
least, the equals of his companions. 

About 1 145, with the assistance of Theobald, 
who took great interest in Roman Law and who 
afterward established a lectureship at Oxford, he 
spent more than a year on the Continent, at 
Bologna and Auxerre, studying ecclesiastical and 



lo CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

civil law. In view of the fact that he was to 
become the great champion of the legal powers 
of the Church as opposed to those of the Crown, 
this experience was most important, for upon it 
were based the phenomenal success and the 
tragic end of one of the strongest and most 
rugged characters in England's history. 

At this time the administrative authority of 
the Church was very great, and its labour in 
matters of litigation was constantly increasing. 
Diocesan courts had to be supplemented by 
many archidiaconal courts, and, to quote Dr 
Stubbs, ''there was a vast increase in ecclesi- 
astical litigation, great profits and fees to be 
made out of it ; a craving for canonical juris- 
prudence . . . and with it the accomi)anying 
evils of ill-trained judges and an ill-understood 
system. . . . The archdeacons were worldly, 
mercenary, and unjust ; the law was uncertain and 
unauthoritative ; the procedure was hurried and 
irregular." To remedy this state of affairs. Theo- 
bald imported his masters of law, and established 
lectures in Oxford ; but he also found them 
useful in his embittered contests with King 
Stephen ; with Henry, brother of the king, and 
Bishop of Winchester, who, as legate of the 
pope, superseded the archbishop in certain 
matters, even in his own see; and with Hugh, 
Abbot of St Augustine's, Canterbury, who 
successfully maintained that he was independent 
of the archbishop, and subject only to the pope. 
In these involved intrigues Thomas soon took a 
part, and there can be no doubt that his sound 
judgment and quick appreciation of subtle points 
were highly valued by Theobald, who had the 



THOMAS OF LONDON ii 

tact and self-control which were sometimes lack- 
ing when Thomas became his own master. 

An early recognition of his services is shown 
by the fact that Thomas of London accompanied 
Theobald to Rome in November 1143, to oppose 
the claim of Henry of Winchester to be legate of 
the new pope, Celestine H., as he had been of 
Innocent II. In 1144, Lucius II. succeeded 
Celestine, and the case was reheard, as was also 
the quarrel between Theobald and the Abbot of 
St Augustine's, which was decided in favour of 
the archbishop. In June 1144, Theobald 
returned to England, confirmed in his position, 
without a rival or active opponent, and at some 
later date he was appointed papal legate. 

In 1 148 there was a convocation at Rheims 
by the pope, Eugenius III., to consider, inter 
alia, the election of William, nephew of the king, 
to the Archbishopric of York, which was opposed 
as illegal by Theobald. The king forbade Theo- 
bald to leave the country, and threatened that if 
he did so he should be permanently banished. 
The ports were watched lest he should escape 
in disguise, but eventually, accompanied by 
Thomas of London and Roger of Canterbury 
(Pont I'Eveque) he crossed in a small boat, and 
was heartily welcomed by the pope as one who 
for the honour of St Peter had crossed the sea, 
thous^h it was ''more like a swim than a sail." 
For a long time Theobald and his companions 
were obliofed to remain abroad. Confiscations 
by the king were met by threats of excommunica- 
tion by the archbishop, who carried on much of 
the business of his see from St Omer, and who 
impressed English and Normans alike with his 



12 CANTHRHURY PILGRIMAGES 

dignity, firmness, gentleness, and generosity to 
the poor. After a time, Theobald and his 
companions returned to England, and he was 
reconciled to the king. 

At the council of Rheims, Theobald and 
Thomas almost certainly met John of Salisbury, 
who was to become one of the best friends, and a 
biographer of the younger man ; and who came 
to England in 1 1 50 to take the position of 
secretary to Theobald. 

Soon after this a most important piece of 
political business was undertaken by Theobald, 
who is said to have employed Thomas as his 
envoy to the pope. As was to be expected, after 
his quarrel with the king, the archl)ishop favoured 
the i)arty of Henry, Duke of Normandy (later 
Henry 1 1.), to whom he had pledged or renewed his 
promise of support when at St Omer. Theobald 
opposed the succession of Stephen's son, I^ustace, 
and sent Thomas to Rome for letters from the 
po[K', forbidding his coronation. Inconsequence, 
when the nobles had sworn fealty to Eustace 
at a great council in 1 152, and Theobald and the 
bishops were called upon to crown the young 
man, Thei^bald refused. He and his companicjns 
were imprisoned in a house until they should 
decide to obey the king, and when many of the 
bishops protested against the refusal, Theobald 
and those who sided with him escaped from the 
house, dropped down the Thames in a small boat, 
and took ship for Flanders. Again there was 
confiscation on one side, and threat to excom- 
municate the king and lay the country under a 
papal interdict on the other side. Stephen 
relented, and recalled the archbishop, who in the 



THOMAS OF LONDON 13 

next year, when Henry, Duke of Normandy, was 
in England, arranged a treaty whereby the duke 
was to succeed Stephen. In 11 54, during Lent, 
he entertained the king and the duke at 
Canterbury, when he oppointed Roger, one of 
the companions of his wanderings, to be Arch- 
bishop of York, and the other, Thomas, to 
succeed Roger as Archdeacon of Canterbury and 
Provost of Beverley, with other posts, as already 
mentioned. 

On the death of Stephen on October 25, 
IT 54, Theobald took the lead in inviting Henry 
of Normandy to occupy the throne, and during 
the weeks in which he was delayed at the siege 
of a castle in Normandy, Theobald acted inform- 
ally as regent, and was very successful in main- 
taining peace amongst a very turbulent lot of 
almost independent nobles, and of mercenaries who 
were {)ractically leaderless. 

The new king landed in Hampshire, hastened 
to Winchester, and thence had a magnificent 
progress and triumphal entry into London, where 
he was crowned by Theobald on December 19. 
The king doubtless realised that the policy of the 
archbishop had been latterly guided by the keen 
brain of Thomas of London, and showed sound 
judgment in accepting the services of Thomas 
when recommended to him by Theobald. From 
the archbishop, patient, tenacious, wise and good, 
rather than brilliant, we must now part for awhile, 
but this chapter cannot close more fitly than with 
a quotation from a letter of several years later 
(1161), dictated on his deathbed, and written by 
John of Salisbury. It reproaches the king and 
Thomas for their long absence from the country, 



14 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

but it shows the feclincr of love and trust with 
which Thomas was still regarded, after several 
years in the king's service, and it throws a 
pleasant light upon the character of the arch- 
bishop, of whom our record has been mostly of 
quarrel and stubbornness. He writes to the 
king : " Let your loyalty move you, together 
with the affection for your children, from whom the 
sternest parent could hardly bear so long a 
separation. Let the love of your wife move you, 
the beauty of the country, and that union of 
dcliL,dus which it is impossible to enumerate — not 
to forget my own case; let my desolation move 
you, for my age and sickness will not enable me 
to wait long for your coming. In this hope I 
wait. With many a sigh I say, Will not my 
Christ give me to see him whom, at my desire, 
Me gave me to anoint.^" And of Thomas he 
says : " He is the only one we have, and he is 
the first of our council. He ought to have come 
without a summons, and unless your need of him 
had excused him, he had been guilty of dis- 
obedience to God and man. But since we have 
ever preferred your will to our own, and have 
determined to further it in all that is lawful, we 
forgive him his fault. We wish him to remain 
in your service as long as you stand in need of 
his services, and we order him to give his whole 
zeal and attention to your wants. But permit 
him to return as soon as ever you can spare 
him." 



CHAPTER II 

WHOM THE KING DELIGHTETH TO HONOUR 

Tine new khvy had more than once had good 
opportunities of noting the abih'ties of Thomas. 
His earnest partisanship, his fidelity, his courage 
and resource under difficulties and temporary 
defeat, his quickness and clearness of judgment, 
and his power of swaying men, were qualities 
marking him as a most valuable assistant in the 
great work of settling and managing a dis- 
organised kingdom. There are differences of 
opinion as to the extent to which Henry or 
Thomas was the real leader in the many impor- 
tant works they carried out, but it seems clear 
that however much he may have been helped and 
influenced by Thomas, Henry, who was brilliant, 
capable, and persistent, knew and initiated his 
own policy, and deliberately chose for his chan- 
cellor the one man in the kingdom who had 
proved his capacity for the work to be done. He 
probably overlooked one very important feature 
in the strong character of Thomas, one which 
was to cause great trouble between them, ending 
in the terrible death of one, and the almost 
equally terrible humih'ation of the other. This 
was that curious fidelity to the master or the 



i6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

cause of the moment which was perhaps the 
strongest point, while, at the same time, it was in 
a sense the weakness, of a very fine nature. To 
a large extent it took the place of any theory of 
right or wrong : — when serving Theobald, the 
interests of Theobald were the only guide ; when 
serving the king, no personal preferences were 
allowed to stand in the way ; when serving the 
Church, not even his affection for the king, which 
was probably a far stronger influence than any 
fear of death, could make him deviate from the 
path he believed to be right in the interests of the 
Church. Thomas has been lauded as a saintly 
paragon, a m.ui of unblemished perfection, and he 
has been decried as an unprincipled self-seeker, 
with a career of success checked only by his own 
overweening vanity and obstinacy. In reality, 
he stands between the two estimates — a strong, 
manly man, but very human, with the faults th.a 
correlate and in part spring from the very virtues 
that made him great. 

We have seen how Theobald, the first great 
employer of Thomas, longed for his presence, 
even when at death's door, and we may be sure 
he telt that he was giving of his best when he 
offered his faithful and favoured archdeacon to 
the new king. This was quite in line with 
Theobald's general character. He had worked 
and waited, not only for the predominance of his 
see in ecclesiastical matters, but for the mainten- 
ance of peace in England, and for the consolida- 
tion of the royal power. Supporting Stephen on 
the throne, even while opposed by him in certain 
church matters, he had refused to recognise 
Eustace, because in the compromise whereby 



WHOM THE KING HONOURS 17 

Stephen was to be maintained during his life, 
with succession to Henry, the son of his rival the 
Empress Matilda, he saw the one hope for peace 
in the country of his adoption. By fidelity to 
this idea Theobald had become the leader of the 
Angevin party ; the cause for which he had 
worked and waited, and even suffered, was 
established by the accession of Henry H., and it 
was only a step in the same course when he 
recommended to the king the vr ^-y best man he 
knew. 

It has been charged against Thomas that in 
deserting the Church for diplomacy, he was in 
some way untrue to his allegiance, but this is one 
of the very last accusations that should be 
brought against such a man. Though miracles 
and devotion, and the divine call have been 
embroidered upon the story of his early life by 
writers who wished to represent him as wholly 
saintly, the fact is that he deliberately chose 
''affairs" for his avocation. When he left his 
studies in Paris he did not enter into holy orders, 
but began business with Huitdenier. When he 
joined Theobald it was not to seek ecclesiastical 
preferment, but as a member of the household, and 
he soon took to the study of law. Even when 
Theobald was prepared to confer upon him the 
Archdeaconry of Canterbury — the most lucrative 
position below a bishopric in the whole Church of 
England — it was necessary to first make him a 
deacon. Thus diplomacy and politics were his 
proper, chosen sphere, and although his life was 
always chaste and regular, and became austerely 
religious after he was made archbishop, even in 
the Church his own proper work was guidance 



i8 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

and government rather than spiritual mini- 
stration. 

We do not know exactly when Thomas of 
London became Thomas the Chancellor, but it 
must have been immediately after the king's 
accession, for a certificate issued in January 1155 
bears his attestation with the new title. Though 
nominally the chancellor yielded precedence to 
the lord chief-justice and a few other officials, 
practically he was the most influential man in the 
kingdom when he had the ability (as in the 
present case) to make the most of the position. 
Mis duties were a peculiar mixture. He was 
superintendent of the Chapel Royal, custodian of 
all sees, abbacies, and baronies that might be 
vacant, keeper of the great seal, and responsible 
for all royal grants. He had the right of attend- 
ing all royal councils without summons, and had 
access at all times to the private car of the king. 
In fact, he was the prime minister of an active 
sovereign, taking a leading part in every act of 
the king, and the intimacy that sprang up between 
Henry and Thomas at once appears natural and 
inevitable if we look through any collection of the 
deeds, grants, and charters of the time. For 
while the great names attached as witnessing the 
documents are constantly changing, one name 
--''Thomas the Chancellor," or sometimes 
" Thomas the King's Chancellor," appears in 
every one. Thus, while archbishops, bishops, 
constable, chamberlain, nobles, and gentles of 
varying degrees are frequently with the king, the 
chancellor is ever at his hand. 

The king began his reign with some active 
travelling to various parts of his new kingdom. 




11 



J ^ 



H 

5 -5j 






WHOM THE KING HONOURS 19 

visiting Oxford, Silveston, Northampton, King's 
Cliffe, Peterborough, Ramsey, Thorney, Spald- 
ing, Lincoln, York, Scarborough, Nottingham, 
Burton-on-Trent, Alrewas, and Radmore, all of 
them (almost certainly) during January and 
February ; and while the great men in attendance 
are constantly changing, one man, Thomas the 
Chancellor, travels and sojourns ever with the 
king. 

In the recreations, as well as in the more 
serious work of the court, the new chancellor took 
a foremost part. His keen senses and nice 
judgment gave him a refined and even a fastidious 
taste in matters of food and drink, of art, and of 
personal appointments and surroundings, in these 
respects forming a striking contrast to the king, 
who was almost ostentatiously vulgar in his 
personal tastes. The attractive personality of 
Thomas was briefly described in the last chapter, 
and a short description of the king, from a 
contemporary source may be of interest here. 
He was '*a man of florid complexion, with red 
hair and grey eyes ; careless in dress ; hurrying 
over his meals ; with hands and feet livid with 
wounds received in the hunting-field ; restless at 
home ; scarcely ever sitting down, except when 
eneaeed in business." He made the chancellor 
take his place in presiding over the royal 
Ijanquets, at which he himself would sometimes 
take only a cup of wine before returning to his 
lield sports, or after sitting awhile and wearying 
of the feast, would vault over the table as the 
easiest means of leaving the room. 

In the hunting and the hawking loved by his 
royal master, Thomas notably excelled, for his 



20 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

natural abilities had been well trained in his 
holidays with Richer de I'Aigle and other sports- 
men, and he could always render a good account 
of himself without allowing livid scars to mar the 
unusual whiteness and beauty of his hands, which 
remained one of his characteristics until his death. 
And even in the evening amusements of the king 
the chancellor took a leading and an intimate 
part, for Henry was a lover of ''the game and 
play of chess," in which Thomas was also very 
skilful. 

Before very long the king and the chancellor 
became inseparable friends, so that his old friend, 
Theobald, wrote to him, '' it sounds in the ears 
and mouth of the people that you and the king 
are one heart and one mind." Another, writing 
to him, asks, " Who is ignorant that you are the 
next person to the king in four kingdoms ? " 
while contemporaries spoke of him as one who 
"seems to be a partner in the kingdom," as "the 
king's governor, and, as it were, master," and 
as "a second Joseph, set over the land of 
Egypt." 

It was not to be expected that such notable 
success could be secured without exciting envy 
and opposition. As on entering the household 
of Theobald, he met with unprincipled petty 
annoyances as well as more serious attack ; and 
although his strength and energy crushed or his 
magnanimity ignored those whom he was unable 
to win by his fascination, he was often greatly 
depressed by the struggle. He told his intimate 
friends that he was weary of life, and eager to 
leave the court, if it were possible to do so without 
disgrace. As time passed, however, the country 



WHOM THE KING HONOURS 21 

and the courtiers alike saw that Thomas was a 
man of strong purpose and wise intent, and 
opposition was overwhelmed by the hearty 
support and personal attachment of men who 
had at heart the real good of the land. 

The daily allowance to the chancellor as a 
member of the royal household was far from 
being extravagant. It consisted of one plain 
and two seasoned simnel cakes ; one sextary of 
clear, and one of household wine ; one large wax 
candle, with forty smaller pieces ; and five 
shillings in money. But, fortunately, Thomas 
had no need to attempt to live within these 
means. He retained his various church benefices, 
to which others were added, including the 
deanery of Hastings, which was a royal chapel 
with a college of secular canons. Far more he 
might have had, for so popular did he become 
with the patrons who had the gift of great 
preferments, that '*by merely asking for things 
as they fell vacant, he might have become in 
time the one sole encumbent of all ecclesiastical 
preferment." From the secular side, at the hands 
of the king, he received the wardenship of the 
castles of Eye and Berkhampstead, the former 
including the service of 140 knights. The 
great income thus secured was largely spent 
in maintaining great pomp and state with *'so 
great a multitude of soldiers and serving-men 
which followed him, that the king himself 
sometimes seemed deserted by comparison." 
Fitzstephen, one of his personal friends and 
biographers, dilates at length and with much 
enthusiasm upon the troops of attendants and 
servitors ; the wealth of gold and silver table- 



22 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

ware ; the lavish and luxurious provision, regard- 
less of cost ; the crowds of nobles, knights, and 
gentles who enjoyed its unparalleled hospitality ; 
the voluntary homage of many barons ; the 
innumerable and valuable gifts of horses, hawks, 
hounds, garments, gold and silver plate, and 
money ; and the great emulation between men of 
rank who strove to introduce their sons into the 
household which was considered the best school 
of manners and high breeding in the country, 
and of which even the heir-apparent to the throne 
was willing to be a cadet. 

When he travelled abroad, the chancellor was 
as gorgeous as in his appointments at home, and we 
shall see one instance in which his bravery well 
served his royal master ; but, meanwhile, had the 
king been of a jealous disposition he might well 
have said, as John is supposed to have done 
to the Abbot of Canterbury : *' Thou keepcst a 
far better house than me." 

By dwelling too much upon these luxuries 
and extravagances, it is possible to obtain quite 
a false idea of the character of the chancellor. 
Even his ostentation was undoubtedly a part of 
his deeply and wisely laid plan for securing 
influence and power, and well he used it in the 
interests of his king and country. 

During the troubled reign of Stephen the 
country had fallen very largely into a state of 
anarchy. Violence, robbery, and imposition had 
been rampant. The greater cities maintained 
armed forces to protect their people, the wealthy 
men built castles (many hundreds were erected in 
Stephen's reign) to help in defending their own 
rights, and too often to help them to encroach 



WHOM THE KING HONOURS 23 

upon the rights of others. The Church built 
religious houses for the succour of "the poor and 
them that have no helper," and by her divine 
authority and sanctity offered a stronger shield 
than the stone walls and deep moats of the barons 
could afford. Further, she healed the sick, fed 
the hungry, employed many of the industrious, 
and became the law-giver and peace-maker of the 
country for all private quarrels. At a time when 
the noblemen refused allegiance to the king, when 
the national parliaments failed to meet, when the 
judges were irregularly appointed and their 
sittings were irregularly held, when even the 
royal warrant was seldom backed with power for 
its enforcement, the Church was the one body in 
the land possessing unity and continuity of pur- 
pose, permanent organisation, wealth, influence, 
and a connection with all parts of the country 
and all classes of the people. The great princes 
of the Church indulged in political intrigue. 
Henry of Winchester openly worked and fought 
against his brother Stephen, and built a great 
castle in Windsor ; Roger of Salisbury, Alexander 
of Lincoln, and Roger of Ely built castles even 
more important, and more menacing to the peace 
of the realm than those of the barons. But 
stronger than the castle-building of these men 
was the influence-building and the law-making 
of Theobald, the wise archbishop. 

William the Conqueror had separated the 
jurisdiction of the Church from that of the State 
at the time when he proclaimed the voice of the 
king to be the supreme law ; for he saw that 
although the subdued people might submit to the 
loss of their rights of representation and popular 



24 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

law-making, the Church would not long be 
content with a final court of appeal other than 
that of Rome. Stephen's reign allowed the 
judicial power of the Church to grow abundantly, 
while that of the Crown was in obeyance ; but 
Henry meant to be king in his own land. In 
this intention he was fully supported by his 
chancellor. 

The first important act toward settling the 
kingdom was the disbanding of the foreign 
mercenaries who had served to prop Stephen 
upon his throne and to protect him from, though 
they could not overawe, his rebellious nobles. 
These irregular troops, often unpaid by their 
royal master, had degenerated into freebooters 
whose excesses were only checked when likely to 
arouse the active opposition of some noble or 
some city, and they were content to stay under 
Henry's rule on similar terms. But he drove 
them from the country, respecting the terrible 
William d'Ipres, who had been made Earl of Kent 
by Stephen, no more than he respected the 
draggle-tailed camp-follower. Thomas the Chan- 
cellor carried out the order, and robbers and cut- 
throats, whether they claimed to be soldiers or 
not, were forced to leave the land or take up 
legitimate occupations. '' Then fled the ravening 
wolves, or they were changed into sheep ; or if not 
really changed, yet, through fear of the laws, 
they remained harmlessly among the sheep." 

The king required his earls and barons to 
meet him in council ; at which times they were 
magnificently entertained, with Thomas the 
Chancellor as the king's delegate, presiding at 
the board. Castles which were deemed likely to 




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c/) -S ^ 

w 5 "« 

< s?^ J 



en r- o" 



<^ 



tn 



O CO 



WHOM THE KING HONOURS 25 

be used against the interests of the king and his 
people, were levelled to the ground, and those 
who were tempted to resist the orders for such 
demolition might take warning from the activity 
and determination with which the king spent his 
first summer in besieging Cleobury, Wigmore, 
and Bridgnorth, and suppressing the rebellion of 
Hugh de Mortimer. The chancellor restored the 
Tower of London, which was greatly dilapidated, 
employing so many men that the work was 
finished between Easter and Whitsuntide, which 
was considered almost miraculous. 

Meanwhile, the common people began to 
breathe freely once again. Crafts and industries 
flourished anew, fields that had long lain 
untended smiled in harvest, and travelling 
merchants were once more able to use the high- 
ways without fear of pillage. In 11 56 the king 
*' relied upon the great help given by the chan- 
cellor " in suppressing the rebellion in Anjou ; 
and in the same year Thomas was justice- 
itinerant in three counties. In the spring of 1 158, 
when Henry wished to arrange a marriage for 
his eldest son, Thomas was the ambassador to 
the court of Louis VII. of France, and his style 
was such that the description is worth con- 
densing : — Carriages, each drawn by five horses ; 
numberless clerics, knights, men - at - arms, 
falconers and huntsmen with their hawks and 
hounds, servitors arrayed in new and brilliant 
liveries ; a menagerie of strange beasts ; fierce 
mastiffs, each strong enough to conquer a bear 
or lion, guarding every carriage ; on every 
sumpter-horse rode a monkey ; enormous wealth 
of plate, bedding and utensils ; sacred vessels 



26 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

and furniture for the chapel ; huge cases of pro- 
visions, books, clothing, and money ; and above 
all, iron-bound casks of English ale, so pure, 
sparkling, delicious, and wholesome as to charm 
every Frenchman who should taste it, and to fill 
him with envy of the islanders who could brew 
such exquisite liquor. From far and wide the 
French people, noble and simple, crowded to see 
the great procession, wondering whose train it 
might be, and when they were informed, they ex- 
claimed, " If this be the state of the English 
chancellor, what must the king be ! " 

The habit of the King of France was to pay 
all the expenses of ambassadors, and Louis gave 
orders to the people of Paris to sell nothing to 
the visitors. But Thomas had anticipated this, 
and sent many purveyors, who bought great store 
in all the country round, so that when he reached 
his lodging he found three days' provisions for a 
thousand men. 

?iis next expedition to France was a warlike 
one, when he accompanied the king to make good 
his claim to the fortresses of the Norman frontier, 
to the earldom of Nantes, and to the lordship of 
Brittany. On this occasion, in addition to 
managing the finances and introducing the 
method of scutage instead of the personal 
service of the vassals, Thomas equipped and 
maintained at his own expense 700 knights, 
and later, over 2000 knights and 4000 men-at- 
arms. In helmet and cuirass he rode at the 
head of his men, and led them in their assaults 
on castles and cities. Moreover, in single com- 
bat he defeated a valiant French knight, in 
addition to showing many other proofs of 



WHOM THE KING HONOURS 27 

personal skill and daring. Other important 
events connected with the chancellorship demand 
our notice, but they properly belong to the next 
chapter, and it is only necessary here to mention 
a charge made against Thomas, that he had 
purchased the chancellorship as a step towards 
the archbishopric. This was made in a letter 
to Thomas himself, after he had been for some 
time archbishop, by Gilbert Foliot, Bishop of 
Hereford, and afterwards Bishop of London, 
who was the only man to openly oppose the 
election of Thomas to be archbishop. Although 
indeed the charge seems to have been ground- 
less as regards the purchasing, such a trans- 
action, per se, would have been considered 
perfectly legitimate at that day, and erelong 
it became universal. But that any wise man 
should have taken the chancellorship as a step 
to great church preferment, is quite unthinkable, 
for until Thomas made it, there had been no 
association between the two offices. Moreover, 
in his actual policy as chancellor he often, in 
the king's cause, rode roughshod over the pre- 
judices and cherished privileges of the church- 
men, so much so that he was spoken of as 
"a despiser of the clergy," a *' persecutor and 
destroyer of holy Church " ; and when the time 
came for his election to the archbishopric, Henry 
of Winchester, who performed the consecration 
could say no better than that he trusted the 
wolf would be turned into a shepherd of Christ's 
sheep, the persecuting Saul into an Apostle 
Paul. It was even rumoured that his old friend 
and master, Theobald, had threatened his ex- 
communication. All this arose because Thomas 



28 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

treated the great lords of the Church just as he 
treated the feudal vassals of the king, in the 
matters of claiming their military subjection, 
razing their fortresses, imposing scutage, and in 
pressing what the king considered his legal 
claims in regard to alienated property and 
usurped rights. 

And 'J'homas was much too wise to have 
done these things had he been a mere time- 
server, aiming at the archbishopric. 



CHAPTER III 

THE CONTEST IN THE KINGDOM I 

CHURCH versus crown 

It was said of Thomas that ''when he put on 
the chancellor, he put off the deacon," and there 
can be no doubt that he entered into the gaiety 
and frivolity of the court, into its political 
intrigues and its sports and recreations, in a 
way that could not be approved by monks and 
churchmen, who still maintained the profession 
of austerity. Yet he kept his court (for the 
king's court was practically his) pure and moral 
— to which fact there is ample contemporary 
testimony. 

He was not regarded as a friend of the 
Church, and doubtless even his old patron 
Theobald, who did not fully understand his 
character of firm loyalty to the master of the 
time being, felt some grievance at the apparently 
ungrateful conduct of one whom he had advanced 
to great position. 

Mention has been made of the great exten- 
sion of church jurisdiction in civil matters. 
This had been a special care of Theobald, and 
as the power of the church courts grew, there 
is no doubt they sometimes tended to favour 

29 



30 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

claims of the Church as against any or all 
outsiders. An Important case in point was 
that of Battle Abbey and Its dependencies, over 
which the Bishop of Chichester claimed full juris- 
diction. The Abbot of Battle resisted this on 
the o^round of a special exemption granted by 
William the Conqueror, when he founded the 
abbey. The case had long remained unsettled, 
and in 1157 the king ordered it to be argued 
before himself, at Colchester. In attacking the 
Conqueror's exemption, the Bishop of Chichester 
argued that it was not lawful for "any lay man, 
no, not for a king, to confer ecclesiastical liberties 
and dignities upon churches, or to take them 
away when once they had been conferred ; unless 
by the permission or with the confirmation of 
the Pope." At this Henry llew into ungovern- 
able rage, and with a terrible oath, said to the 
bishop : " You imagine, by your craft and 
subtlety, to overturn those royal prerogatives 
with which God has been pleased to invest me ; 
but, on your oath of fealty, I charge you to 
submit to correction for these presumptuous 
words against my royal crown and dignity ; 
and I charge the archbishops and bishops here 
present to do me justice upon you, agreeably 
to the rights of the crown granted me by 
God Most High. Nothing can be clearer 
than that you are acting directly against my 
royal dignities — that you are labouring to 
deprive me of the privileges due to me of 
ancient right." 

The excitement In the court was enormous. 
Those who were present included the Arch- 
bishops of Canterbury and York, the Bishops 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN ZZ 

against even the king : as Henry's man, even his 
personal love for Theobald did not make him 
swerve from his duty to the king : and when the 
affairs of the Church were entrusted to his care, 
the Church became his one mistress, to whose 
interests not even the king should make him 
disloyal. 

It is possible, by casuistry and subtle twisting 
of the evidence here and there, to show that 
Thomas was conscientious and consistent all 
through. It is possible, also, to show that 
he was an ungrateful, inconsistent, self-seeking 
adventurer. Either demonstration requires forced 
special pleading, and probably no just estimate of 
his character can be formed without full realisa- 
tion of his loyalty to the master, rather than to 
any abstract "cause." 

It Is difficult to say how far the establishment 
of our present system of courts of justice was 
influenced by Thomas the Chancellor. He is 
commonly credited with being the founder of the 
Court of Chancery; and, during Henry's reign 
the Courts of Exchequer, of Common Pleas and of 
Chancery were formed to take definite depart- 
ments of legeil work, leaving to the orlglned Court 
of King's Bench all matters not definitely 
assigned to one of the others. The growth o^ 
these courts was gradual, and although it began 
early in the reign, when Thomas was chancellor, 
we do not know exactly how far It was the 
gradual unfolding of a prearranged scheme, or 
how far it was the outcome of increasing pressure 
of work. At any rate, during the first eight 
years of the reign, great strides had been made in 
the direction of Increasing the power of the 

c 



34 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Crown, and the efficiency of its courts of law, and 
something had been done to check the pretensions 
of the Church. 

But Henry saw that the first ^;r«/^ opposition 
to his plans was to come from the ecclesiastical 
power, and when the death of Theobald, in 1161, 
left the primacy vacant, the king thought he saw 
his way to a step of the greatest political import- 
ance, a means of placing his own personal friend 
and strongest supporter at the head of the Church 
in his kingdom. The step was opposed by 
Thomas even more strongly than it was by the 
churchmen, who largely smothered their real feel- 
ings ; but the king was imperative. He was in 
no hurry about the matter, for he was actively 
campaigning on the Continent, and found his 
chancellor so useful that he could not spare him 
to attend the dying bed of his old friend 
Theobald, though the poor lonely prelate wrote 
those piteous letters from which an extract has 
already been made (p. 14). 

It is hard to believe that the king had not 
fully discussed the succession to the archbishopric 
with his trusted chancellor, either during the ill- 
ness or after the death of Theobald, but contem- 
porary writers assure us that when the king 
approached Thomas on the subject, a year after 
the see had become vacant, the suggestion came 
as a complete surprise. In his astonishment, 
pointing to his own finery, and scarce believing 
the king to be in earnest, he said: ''A pretty 
saint you wish to put over that holy bishopric 
and that famous monastery." That the matter 
had been discussed by churchmen and politicians, 
we know, and that it had even been raised in the 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 35 

presence of Thomas himself, for, during an illness 
when he was visited by the Prior of Leicester, he 
had stated that he knew three poor priests in 
England whose promotion to the office he would 
rather see than his own ; and that if he were 
appointed he must forfeit the favour either of God 
or the king. After this, he had evidently dis- 
missed the matter, and when the king stated his 
wishes, treated them, first without seriousness, and 
then with firmer opposition. The king was 
supported by the strong representations of the 
Cardinal of Pisa ; and after solemnly warning the 
king that his election to the see would mean the 
rupture of their friendship, Thomas reluctantly 
assented. 

Though the king had much authority, he did 
not even pretend that he had the right to appoint 
an archbishop. The see was filled by election, 
by the bishops and abbots, and the monks of 
Christ Church (the Cathedral) ; and to persuade 
them to accept the man of his choice the king 
sent Hilary, Bishop of Chichester, and his old 
opponent, Walter de Luci, Abbot of Battle, 
Richard de Luci, his brother, Bartholomew, 
Bishop of Exeter, and Walter, Bishop of 
Rochester, brother of the late primate. To 
Richard de Luci, Chief Justiciary of the realm, the 
king was especially impressive. " If I were lying 
dead on my bier," he said, "would you endeavour 
that my first-born, Henry, should be raised to 
the throne?" and on receiving the expected 
assurance, he added, '' Then I wish you to have 
no less care for the promotion of the chancellor 
to the See of Canterbury." 

There was some real opposition to the election, 



J 



6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 



first by the monks of Christ Church, who urged 
that only a monk ought to have been suggested, 
and according to some of the chroniclers freely 
and unflatteringly discussed the tastes and habits 
of the chancellor. Eventually their scruples were 
overcome, and then came a second election, at 
Westminster, at which there were further objec- 
tions, although only one man, Gilbert Foliot, 
Bishop of Hereford, had the courage to voice 
his opinion openly. The justiciary, de Luci, 
had been provided with very great powers by 
the king, and according to a declaration made 
by Foliot himself in later years, his opposition 
was met by a threat of banishment for himself 
and all his relatives. Thus all objection was 
silenced, and Thomas was elected to the most 
important post in the Church of England, 
although he was not even a priest. 

His consecration caused difficulty. The 
Archbishop of York, as the highest official in 
the Church ; Henry of Winchester, as precentor 
of the province ; Walter of Rochester, as arch- 
bishop's chaplain, and one of the Welsh bishops 
in right of seniority, all claimed to perform the 
rite. Eventually, Thomas was ordained a priest 
by the Bishop of Rochester, on June 2, and 
consecrated archbishop on the following day by 
the Bishop of Winchester, in the presence of 
the Bishops of Ely, Bath, Salisbury, Norwich, 
Chichester, Chester, Exeter, Lincoln, Rochester, 
Llandaff, St David's, St Asaph, and Hereford. 

Meanwhile, the new archbishop meant that 
there should be no misunderstanding as to where 
his allegiance lay. He had already personally 
warned the king that his election to the arch- 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 2>7 

bishopric would mean a breach between them, 
and on the day of his election he arranged for 
Henry of Winchester, in the name of all the 
electors, to request of t^ e young Prince Henry, 
who was representing lis father, that Thomas 
should be discharg^ed from all oblio^ations con- 
tracted during his chancellorship ; and to this the 
prince agreed. 

Thus Thomas the archbishop ceased to be 
the king's man, and became God's man ; and his 
first official act was to arrange that the Feast of 
the Holy and Undivided Trinity, which had 
been irregularly held, and on different dates in 
different places, should in future be always held 
on the octave of Whitsun Day, the day of his 
consecration. 

His outward habits underwent little change. 
He still spent extravagantly, entertained lavishly, 
and gave generously. Even when at court, his 
personal life had been pure, his tastes refined, 
and his influence very strong upon what one of 
his biographers calls ''the wild beasts of the 
court." We have a little evidence that personal 
simplicity was combined with much display, for 
at the time when his private band of music had 
been the admiration of both the French and the 
English armies, a curious host, surprised that 
night after night his bed was unused, found him 
sleeping for choice on the boards of the floor. 
Some of the biographers tell of his mortifications 
and austerities after becoming archbishop, but 
he never paraded them ; it was not until after 
his death that they were known to more than 
a few intimates, and we shall see in a later 
chapter that even his nearest friends had no 



38 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

idea of the extent of his self-mortification until 
they stripped his body for burial. Outwardly 
he was still somewhat ostentatious, not only 
when in his own country, but even when in 
banishment ; so much so that some of his truest 
friends remonstrated with him, suggesting that 
his style and extravagance gave hold to the 
enemy. 

The young warriors who had surrounded the 
chancellor were replaced by a court of scholars 
and clerics around the archbishop ; and as he 
need not now lavish his means upon private 
armies for the king's wars, he gave great sums 
to the relief of the poor and to the building of 
churches and religious houses. Theobald had 
doubled the subscriptions of his predecessor to 
charitable funds, and Thomas doubled the charities 
of Theobald. 

Not long after his own election, Thomas 
translated Gilbert Foliot from the See of Hereford 
to that of London, and addressed to him letters 
of praise and commendation whicli either indicate 
very great magnanimity, or a very subtle desire 
to conciliate the one enemy who had dared to 
speak openly. Probably F'oliot thought the latter 
was the object, for, in 1166, he returned to the 
charge, stated that the electors of the archbishop 
had been coerced by the king's people, in spite 
of **the loud protest of the whole realm, and 
the sighing and groaning of the Church of God 
so far as she dare give voice to her complaint." 
He said, further, that fear of the chancellor had 
swayed them greatly. He had already ''plunged 
his sword into the heart of his mother Church, 
and drunk deep of her blood " (in the matter of 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 39 

scutage), and a second blow was feared, unless 
the churchmen forwarded his ambition. And in 
conclusion : ''Thus did you enter into the sheep- 
fold, not by the door, but by climbing up another 
way." This opposition, in which the bishop was 
supported by many of the clergy, shows that the 
archbishop was believed to have been no friend 
to the Church when in the king's service, and 
that even after he had made the change of 
allegiance his path was far from smooth. Foliot's 
remonstrances were frankly addressed to himself, 
and show that here was the same sort of opposi- 
tion, misunderstanding, and jealousy as had been 
met in the household of Theobald, and in the 
early days of the chancellorship. 

No opposition, no difficulties were allowed to 
change the purpose of the archbishop, and before 
long he was to come into conflict with his late 
master on many points. 

The friction that arose out of confiscated 
church property and alienated rights, produced 
bitter feeling enough, and we shall have occasion 
to notice some particular instances ; but the stern 
fight occurred on important matters of principle, 
where there was much to be said for both sides, 
and where each party may well have been con- 
vinced of the absolute justice of its conten- 
tion. 

In the early Christian theory, all Christians 
had been amenable to the Church, whether they 
were civil or ecclesiastics ; and this had only been 
modified by the command that Christians should 
submit themselves to ''the powers that be." 
Thus, in a Christian country, all the people 
(being Christians) must be fully subject to the 



40 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

law of the Church as well as to the law of the 
land. But as the law of the Church was one of 
brotherly love, and as Christians who had aught 
against each other had been commanded to "tell 
it to the Church," it was felt that while a 
Christian must submit to anything the civil court 
might inflict, he could not consistently take 
matters before a civil court. Gradually the 
Church allowed this principle to become dis- 
torted. Christians applied to the civil courts in 
spite of clerical objections ; and eventually, 
though the Church could not prevent its 
members being plaintiffs, it adopted the theory 
that clerics could not be parties to any civil court 
proceedings, nor subject to the civil jurisdiction. 
As the clerics were very numerous, including 
great hosts of choristers, parish clerks, monks, 
and friars, as well as the regular clergy, an 
enormous number of people were shielded from 
the action of the common law. If these people 
had really been devout children of the Church, 
willing to abide by her great principles of love 
and charity and uprightness, all would have been 
well, but unfortunately many a churchman made 
his religion a cloak for heinous crimes, cared 
nothing for the highest punishment the Church 
could inflict (excommunication), and was safe 
from the arm of the law of the country. This 
was the state of affairs as it appeared to Henry 
II., and this he proposed to radically alter. 

There can be no reason to believe that 
Thomas wished to encourage or protect evil 
livers. Even when chancellor, he had shown the 
greatest possible severity to one of his household 
who had betrayed the wife of a friend. At the 




CHRISTCHURCH GATE, CANTERBURY. 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 41 

same time, while probably fully aware of abuses 
in the Church, he felt that they ought to be 
remedied by strengthening, and not by 
weakening the authority of the Church over her 
own children. Further, the Church still claimed 
the right to judge all cases where {a) the plaintiff 
was a widow, or an orphan under age ; and [b) 
where the action dealt with usury, breach of faith, 
payment of tithes, or any matter relating to a 
church benefice ; and this Thomas was prepared 
to maintain. 

The king was, perhaps, a little tactless in his 
first step against the Church, for it involved an 
objection to the archbishop's retention of his 
archdeaconry after obtaining the higher office. 
The holding of many enormously lucrative offices 
by one man was doubtless very wrong from 
many points of view, but perhaps the objection 
might better have been raised during the years 
of the chancellorship, when the great revenues of 
the archdeaconry had helped to furnish soldiers 
for the king's wars and entertainment for his 
courtiers. It was an attack personal to Thomas, 
and he felt that it was just one of those matters 
of pure Church government with which the king 
had no right to interfere. On the other hand, 
the king probably felt that the system of 
pluralities was recognised by all honest church- 
men (not themselves pluralists) as a fault, and 
that in defending it in his own case Thomas 
would have to face a charge of being actuated by 
selfishness and covetousness rather than by any 
love for the Church. One reason suggested for the 
retention of the archdeaconry is unwillingness to 
allow it to be filled by a partisan of the king, and 



42 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

however this may be, when at last the archbishop 
submitted, such a partisan was appointed. 

Meanwhile, under cover of an authority from 
the king, which his majesty afterward refused to 
support, on the ground that it was not used as 
intended, the archbishop proceeded to eject by 
force many illegal holders of lands belonging to 
the Church, thereby rousing a host of enemies, 
and annoying the king, who wished all such 
causes to go through the regular courts. 
Though he raged at the moment, however, 
Henry was willing to forgive ; and when he 
landed at Southampton at Christmas 1162, and 
Thomas took the young Prince Henry (who was 
still living in his household) to meet his father, 
the king opened his arms and embraced his old 
friend most heartily, and they conferred together 
long and familiarly. 

For some time in the next year the king and 
archbishop travelled together. "Thomas, Abp. 
of Canterbury" appears as the first name 
attesting many deeds, and on March 17 the 
king was in Canterbury, magnificently enter- 
tained by the archbishop, and together they 
attended the procession of the monks. 

In July 1 163, at a council at Woodstock, the 
king proposed to transfer certain customary fees 
of the sheriffs, consisting of or including the 
*' Danegeld," to the royal treasury ; and this was 
successfully opposed by Thomas, firstly, because 
he contended that the sheriffs earned the fees ; 
and, secondly, because they were only paid by 
custom, not by legal right, and therefore might 
at some time be remitted, but if made into a 
charge for the royal treasury they would become 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 43 

a fixed tax for all time. Of course, such 
opposition was annoying to the king ; but worse 
was quickly to follow, for in the same month a 
direct conflict arose between church and lay 
jurisdiction, when Simon Fitz Peter, recently a 
justiciary, complained that he had been insulted 
in the court at Dunstable by Philip de Broc, 
canon of Lincoln, who had been acquitted on a 
charge of homicide by the diocesan court, and 
had resisted arraignment by the justiciary. The 
king declared that there must be a new trial, to 
which Thomas agreed on condition that it should 
be before a Court Spiritual, and shortly after- 
ward de Broc was tried at Canterbury, when he 
was acquitted on a charge of homicide, but 
received heavy sentence for resisting the king's 
officer. 

At the same time Thomas was pressing claims 
for the restoration of church property, proceeding 
against small and great, including a suit against 
the Earl of Clare for the recovery of lands at 
Tonbridge ; but these actions were in accord- 
ance with the law, and for the moment the king 
w^as friendly. But busy tongues were whispering 
all manner of accusation against the archbishop. 
As the old chroniclers say: ''Nothing could 
now be said or done by him without being 
perverted by the malice of the wicked — insomuch 
that they even persuaded the king that, if the 
archbishop's power should go forward, the royal 
dignity would assuredly be brought to naught ; — 
that, unless he looked to it, for himself and for 
his heirs, the crown would be at the disposal of 
the clergy, and kings would only reign so long 
as pleased the archbishop." Probably this 



44 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

persuasion of the king is a little over-stated, 
and in any case the royal suspicion was a plant 
of slow growth. But it was constantly growing ; 
and even some of the king's speeches, which may 
have been intended as defence of the archbishop's 
loyalty, were twisted to sound like royal boasts 
of the churchman's servility. For instance, it is 
recorded that at Windsor, in August 1163, the 
king made *'an ungracious speech about Becket's 
having absolved William de Eynsford, to gratify 
the king." 

In October of the same year, the question of 
principle was first raised upon which the great 
division and stru^j^rle between Church and Crown 
was to occur. A great council was held in 
London, called for the purpose of formally 
acknowledging the Archbishop of Canterbury 
as the primate of all England. This was pressed 
by Thomas and his friends, and strongly opposed 
by the Archbishop of York (the old opponent, 
Roger of Pont I'P^veque). The king also raised 
the immensely important question of the ''Customs 
of the Realm." He was moved to this course 
by a case which had come before him in York 
five years earlier, wherein a Scarborough man 
complained that a certain rural dean had extorted 
from him a bribe of twenty-two shillings to 
withdraw an unsupported charge of adultery 
against the complainant's wife. The royal edict 
had forbidden any criminal charge to be brought 
on the evidence of less than two witnesses, and 
the king summoned the rural dean, who made a 
defence which he was unable to substantiate. 
The king ordered him to be regularly tried, but 
the Archbishop of York, the Bishops of Durham 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 45 

and Lincoln, and the treasurer of York contended 
that as the dean was a cleric he could only be 
tried by churchmen, and gave a sentence which 
the king refused to recognise, stating that he 
would appeal the matter to Theobald, Archbishop 
of Canterbury. He also roundly accused the 
archdeacons and deans of extorting from the 
people by these means — more money than was 
received by the royal treasury. A hurried 
summons to Normandy caused the king to drop 
this particular case, but the whole subject was 
reopened at the first convenient opportunity : the 
council in London. The king then roundly 
charged the archdeacons and their courts with 
venality, excessive severity to lay offenders, and 
excessive leniency to clerics, and demanded that 
churchmen accused of crimes should henceforth 
be amenable to the lay courts. 

To this, both the archbishops and all the 
bishops, with the exception of Hilary of Chichester, 
were resolutely opposed, and after long argument 
the churchmen promised to obey the '' Customs 
of the Realm," salvo ordine suo (excepting our 
order), while Hilary promised to obey them dona 
fide. The king was greatly incensed at the 
opposition, removed his son from the tutelage of 
Thomas, resumed the custody of the castles of 
Eye and Berkhampstead, and left London at 
once. The archbishop soon followed, and over- 
taking the royal train near Northampton had 
an interview outside the city, for the king said 
that the town was not large enough to hold 
their two great retinues. The king insisted on 
the submission of Thomas, demandino- of him, 
'' Are you not the son of one of my villeins ? " to 



46 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

which the archbishop replied that even '' the 
blessed Peter, prince of the apostles," was of 
lowly birth. The king reminded him that Peter 
died for his Master. "And I, too," answered 
Thomas, "will die for my Lord when the time 
shall come," a remark which was treasured in 
after years as having been prophetic. 

Neither arguments nor threats moved the 
archbishop, and for some time the bishops 
continued to support him resolutely ; whereupon 
the king employed Arnulf, Bishop of Lisieux, and 
others, to convert the bishops one by one, and to 
try to induce the pope to compel the obedience 
of Thomas. The Archbishop of York and the 
Bishop of Lincoln (though they had been parties 
against the king in the original case in 1158) 
were the first to submit to the royal will, and 
they were quickly followed by others, who were 
prepared to harass the Archbishop of Canterbury 
when they had the support of the king and a 
chance for their own aggrandisement. The 
claim of York to a position of equality with 
Canterbury was revived and pressed, Gilbert 
Foliot declared that the See of London was 
independent of Canterbury, and the Abbot of St 
Augustine's, Canterbury, a Norman, forced upon 
the monks by the king, contended that his abbey 
was also completely independent. 

Late in the year, Hilary, Bishop of Chichester, 
as a special envoy from the king, met Thomas 
at Lenham, in Kent, but with unavailing argu- 
ments ; the pope urged Gilbert Foliot to mediate 
in the matter ; and in December the pope sent 
special envoys with expostulatory letters from 
himself and the cardinals. At length a meeting 



CHURCH ERSi/s CROWN 47 

was arranged at Oxford, when the archbishop 
agreed to obey the king ''in bona," or so far as 
was right. 

To celebrate and ratify this royal success a 
great council was called at Clarendon, near 
Salisbury, and attended by the two archbishops, 
twelve of the bishops and a very large company 
of nobles. At this time Thomas was satisfied 
that the papal commands had been misrepresented, 
and refused to confirm the consent he had 
verbally given. For three days he stood alone, 
resisting alike the threats of his enemies and 
the entreaties of his friends. At length he 
submitted, and is quoted as sayihg, '' It is my 
lord's will [probably meaning the pope] that I 
forswear myself. I must incur the risk of perjury 
now, and do penance afterward, as best I may." 
Even then the matter was not settled, for when 
the king had drawn up sixteen "Constitutions," 
which he said embodied the "Customs of the 
Realm," the archbishop denounced them as 
contrary to canon law, and refused to seal them. 
Even this determination, however, seems to have 
been over-ruled ; three copies of the Constitutions 
were sealed, and the archbishop rode away from 
the conference covering himself with reproaches. 
The council broke up, and further informal 
conferences followed, but resulted in nothing. 

These Constitutions are so important to a 
proper understanding of the quarrel between the 
archbishop and the king, that they may well be 
given in full, in spite of the space they will 
occupy. 

I. Of the advowson and presentation to churches : if 
any dispute shall arise between laymen, or between clerics 



48 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

and laymen, or between clerics, let it be tried and decided 
in the court of our lord the king. 

II. Churches of the king's fee shall not be given in per- 
petuity without his consent and license. 

III. Clerics accused of any crime shall be summoned by 
the king's justice into the king's court to answer for what- 
ever the king's court shall determine they ought to answer 
there ; and in the ecclesiastical court for whatever it shall 
be determined that they ought to answer there ; yet so that 
the king's justice shall send into the Court of holy Church 
to see in what way the matter shall be there handled ; and 
if the cleric shall confess or be convicted, the Church for 
the future shall not protect him. 

IV. No archbishop, bishop, or exalted person shall leave 
the kingdom without the king's license ; and if they wish 
to leave it, the king shall be empowered, if he pleases, to 
take security from them, that they will do no harm to the 
king or kingdom, either in going or remaining, or 
returning. 

V. Persons excommunicated are not to give bail, ad 
rnnanentiamy nor to make oath, but only to give bail and 
pledge that they will stand by the judgment of the church 
where they are absolved. 

VI. Laymen shall not be accused, save by certain and 
legal accusers and witnesses in presence of the bishop, so 
that the archdeacon may not lose his rights, or anything 
which accrues to him therefrom. And if those who are 
arraigned are such that no one is willing or dares to accuse 
them, the sherilT, on demand from the bishop, shall cause 
twelve loyal men of the village to swear before the bishop 
that thty will declare the truth in that matter according to 
their conscience. 

VII. No one who holds of the king in chief, nor any of 
his domestic servants, shall be exct»mmunicated, nor his 
lands be put under an interdict, until the king shall be 
consulted, if he is in the kingdom ; or if he is abroad, his 
justiciary, that he may do what is right in that matter, and 
so that whatever belongs to the king's court may therein 
be settled, and the same on the other hand of the ecclesi- 
astical court. 

VIII. Appeals, if they arise, must be made from the 
archdeacon to the bishop, and from the bishop to the arch- 
bishop ; and if the archbishop shall fail in administering 
justice, the parties shall come before our lord the king, that 




REMAINS OF THE MONKS' INFIRMAKV, CANTERBURY CATHEDR.- 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 49 

by his precept the controversy may be terminated in the 
archbishop's court, so that it may not proceed further with- 
out the consent of our lord the king. 

IX. If a dispute shall arise between a cleric and a layman, 
or between a layman and a cleric about a tenement which 
the cleric wishes to claim as eleemosynary, but the layman 
claims as lay fee, it shall be settled by the declaration of 
twelve qualified men, through the agency of the king's 
capital justice, whether the tenement is eleemosynary or lay 
fee, in presence of the king's justice. And if it shall be 
declared that it is eleemosynary, it shall be pleaded in the 
ecclesiastical court ; but, if a lay fee, unless both shall claim 
the tenement of the same bishop or baron, it shall be 
pleaded in the king's court ; but if both shall claim of that 
fee from the same bishop or baron, it shall be pleaded in his 
court, yet so that the same declaration above-named shall 
not deprive of seizin him who before was seized, until he 
shall be divested by the pleadings. 

X. If any man belonging to a city, castle, borough, or 
king's royal manor shall be summoned by the archdeacon or 
bishop to answer for a crime, and shall not comply with the 
summons, it shall be lawful to place him under an interdict, 
but not to excomnmnicate him, until the king's principal 
officer of that place be informed thereof, that he may justify 
his appearing to the summons ; and if the king's officer shall 
fail in that matter, he shall be at the king's mercy, and the 
bishop shall forthwith coerce the party accused with ecclesi- 
astical discipline. 

XL The archbishops, bishops, and all other persons of 
the kingdom who hold of the king in chief, shall hold their 
possessions of the king as barony, and answer for the same 
to the king's justices and officers, and follow and observe all 
the king's customs and rectitudes ; and be bound to be 
present, in the judgment of the king's court with the barons, 
like other barons, until the judgment proceeds to mutilation 
or death. 

XII. When an archbishopric, bishopric, abbac}^, or priory 
of the king's domain shall be vacant, it shall be in his hand, 
and he shall leceive from it all the revenues and proceeds, 
as of his domains. And when the time shall come for pro- 
viding for that church, our lord the king shall recommend 
the best persons to that church, and the election shall be 
made in the king's chapel, with the king's consent, and the 
advice of the persons of the kingdom whom he shall have 



50 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

summoned for that purpose. And the person elected shall 
there do homage and fealty to our lord the king, as his liege 
lord, of life and limb, and of his earthly honours saving his 
orders, before he is consecrated. 

XIII. If any of the king's nobles shall have refused to 
render justice to an archbishop, or bishop, or archdeacon, 
for himself or any of his men, our lord the king shall justice 
them. And if by chance any one shall have deforced our 
lord the king of his rights, the archbishops, bishops, and 
archdeacons shall justice him, that he may render satisfac- 
tion to the king. 

XI\^ The chattels of those who are in forfeiture to the 
king shall not be detained by the church or the cemetery, 
in opposition to the king's justice, for they belong to the 
king, whether they are found in the church or without. 

XV. Pleas for debts which are due, whether with the 
interposition of a pledge of faith or not, belong to the king's 
court. 

XV'I. The sons of rustics shall not be ordaineil without 
the consent of the lord in whose lands they are known to 
have been born. 



Meanwhile the pope himself was weakly 
endeavoiiriiiL,^ to avoid a breach with any of the 
parties. Refusincr to crive to York the " let^ation 
of all Encrland," which was demanded by the 
Archbishop of York and the kin^r ; he offered 
to give the legation to the king, with power to 
give it to any one he chose, stibject to the consent 
of the Archbishop of Canterbury. At the same 
time he wrote to Tliomas, telling him of the 
useless concession he had made. Further, royal 
messengers were sent to the papal court, who 
secured an order that Thomas must consecrate 
the Abbot of St Augustine's without any act 
of submission, and reported on their return that 
the messengers of the archbishop continually 
slandered the king. 

During these intrigues there was no obvious 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 51 

and open rupture. In April 11 64, Thomas, with 
ten bishops, and in the presence of the king, 
consecrated the conventual church at Reading ; 
but when, in August of the same year, he 
attempted to gain audience of the king, he was 
refused. It was probably at this time that he 
made two attempts to leave the country secretly, 
to lay his case personally before the pope ; for 
when an interview was at last granted (and it 
seems to have been in September 1164), Henry 
reproached him for trying to run away. 

Immediately after this, the case of John, the 
king's marshal, came to a head. He had laid a 
claim in the archbishop's court to a property 
known as Mundham, parcel of the archicpiscopal 
manor of Pagham, Sussex. He was non-suited, 
and appealed to the king, making oath that 
justice had been denied him. The archbishop, 
summoned to answer this charge before the 
king's court in Westminster, made no appearance, 
but sent a plea of ill-health, and stated that the 
case ought to be heard in his own court, from 
which its removal had been secured by perjury. 
Some of the archbishop's enemies rejoiced, for 
they thought that at last his proud spirit was 
broken, and that he would fail to attend the 
great council at Northampton, to which he was 
summoned for October 6. The king intended 
the whole proceeding to be humiliating to the 
prelate, for instead of summoning him as had 
always previously been the case, as one entitled 
to an honoured place in the council, he sent the 
summons by the Sheriff of Kent, as if for a 
common criminal. In no criminal guise, how- 
ever, did Thomas mean to appear. Remembering^' 



52 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

that on a former occasion Henry had pronounced 
Northampton too small for their two great 
retinues, the archbishop engaged ample room 
in advance, and approached the city with a 
magnificent company of attendants and servants. 
On nearing the gates he heard that the king 
had placed his own retainers in the h^dgings 
provided for the archbishop's suite, and at once 
sent an embassy to the king to say that unless 
the premises were at once cleared, he and all his 
company would return to Canterbury. The king, 
seeing the blunder in his tactics, gave way, but 
he had not the civility to leave his hawking to 
attend the council at the time for which he had 
called it ; and when the archbishop waited upon 
the king he was refused admittance to his 
presence. The council refused to accept the plea 
that illness had prevented the archbishop's 
attendance at the king's court in the matter of 
John the marshal, and found that he was a 
criminal "at the king's mercy," a sentence involv- 
ing forfeiture of all his movable property. Then, 
although no mention had been made of them in 
the summons, many new charges were brought 
by the king. First, the payment of ;i{^300 received 
as warden of the castles of Eye and Berk- 
hampstead was demanded. Thomas replied that 
the money had been spent on repair of the castles 
and of the Tower of London, but as no order 
from the king was produced for such repairs, 
the claim was supported by the court. Five 
hundred marks spent by Thomas in the war of 
Toulouse was claimed by the king as a loan ; a 
similar sum, borrowed from a Jew for the same 
purpose, was also claimed, though Thomas said 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 53 

the king had promised to repay it. Next day, 
another sum of thirty thousand marks was claimed 
on account of all the revenues paid into the 
exchequer from vacant bishoprics and abbacies 
while Thomas was chancellor. The council 
supported the king, on the technical ground 
that Thomas did not produce orders and receipts 
for the expenditure o{ these moneys, though the 
defendant protested that he had spent every 
penny in the king's service and with his authority, 
that no mention of these charges had been made 
in the summons, and that at the close of his 
chancellorship he had received a full and regular 
discharge. He asked for delay that he might 
consult with the bishops, and the king swore 
that he would suffer no delay beyond the 
morrow. 

Early next day there was a conference with 
the bishops, who almost all looked upon Thomas 
as a fallen man, and while some offered personal 
sympathy, none, save Henry of Winchester, gave 
any practical support. After the meeting, going 
into the great hall of the monastery at which he 
was lodged, Thomas missed the busy obsequious 
crowd of warriors and churchmen, knights and 
scholars who had previously thronged his court. 
With an instant perception of the dramatic 
possibilities, he sent his serving-men to bid poor 
folk attend him, which they did in great numbers, 
and were flattered when the worn, haggard, but 
still magnificent man told them how their prayers 
were his strong defence in the hour of his trial, 
when he was deserted by those whom he had 
long fed and clothed. The same day (Saturday, 
October 10), Thomas again appeared before the 



54 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

council, and offered to submit to a fine of two 
thousand marks in satisfaction of the alleged 
debt, but no definite conclusion was reached. 

Sunday was devoted by the king to councils, 
while Thomas was confined to his rooms by 
illness, as also on the next day, when the king, 
thinking the malady a pretence, sent two earls to 
examine the patient. On Tuesday, the 13th, the 
bishops urged Thomas to resign the archbishopric 
and throw himself upon the king's mercy, thus 
averting grave dangers which threatened the 
Church and saving himself from charges of 
treason for breaking his feudal allegiancc'^and of 
perjury for violating the Constitutions which he 
had, however unwillingly, sealed at Clarendon. 
To which Thomas replied: "Our enemies are 
pressing upon us, and the whole world is against 
us : but my chief sorrow is that you who are the 
sons of my mother — the Church — do not take 
my part. Though I were to say nothing, all 
future ages would declare that you deserted me 
in the battle, — me, your father and archbishop, 
sinner though I am. For two whole days you 
sat as judges over me, and were a mote in my 
eye and a goad in my side — you who ought to 
have taken part with me against mine enemies. 
And I doubt not that you would sit as judges 
over me in criminal causes, as you have already 
done in civil matters, before this secular tribunal. 
But I now enjoin you all, in virtue of your 
obedience, and in peril of your orders, not to be 
present in any cause which may be moved against 
my person ; and, to prevent you from doing so, I 
appeal to that refuge of the distressed, the Holy 
Roman See." And after further exhortations he 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 55 

concluded, " Be assured of one thing : though 
enemies press hard upon me ; though this frail 
body yield to their persecution, because all flesh 
is weak ; yet shall my spirit never yield, nor will 
I ever, by God's mercy, turn my back in flight, 
or basely desert the flock committed to my 
care." 

Amongst the common people, rumour had 
been wildly flying for a couple of days. It was 
whispered that the king intended to put out the 
eyes, or cut out the tongue of the archbishop ; so 
that when he decided to personally say the mass 
on Tuesday, October 13, before proceeding to 
the council, the people thronged in and about the 
church. The archbishop wore his most sacred 
vestments, including the pallium, reserved for 
occasions of the utmost importance, and with his 
procession of priests and choristers entered the 
church. To the surprise of all, instead of 
approaching the high altar, the procession turned 
into the chapel of St Stephen, although It was 
not the day of that saint. A whisper went round 
that the selection of the altar of the first martyr 
meant that Thomas himself might be a martyr 
before the day was over. Sobs burst forth from 
the emotional people, the archbishop himself was 
moved to tears, and soon the whole crowded con- 
gregation shook with sobs and weeping. After 
a long pause the rich full voice of the archbishop 
was heard chanting the introit for St Stephen's 
day — " Princes also did sit and speak against 
me," and when he had gone through the whole 
service and turned to give the benediction, a hush 
fell over the kneeling mass of people, his figure 
was erect, and his face, showing no trace of his 



56 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

recent Illness and dejection, was illumined with 
bright confidence. 

Leaving the church in his magnificent robes, 
he proposed to walk forthwith to the castle and 
the council, but certain of his friends feared the 
king might consider such a course defiant, so he 
adopted the simpler dress of a canon regular. 
Doubtless he feared violence, for he hid a 
portion of the sacred wafer in his (lothing. and 
bon^ his archiepiscopal cross, ihercby placing 
himself in sanctuary. The enthusiasm of the 
crowd was great, and caused fear in the minds of 
the servants of the castle, so that as soon as 
Thomas and his immediate followers had entered, 
the gates were closed and the portcullis came 
thundering down. The peaceful bishops, think- 
ing the king would regard the cross as a sign of 
distrust, tried to have it restored to its proper 
bearer, and Foliot, the Bishop of London, saying, 
"Good man, he always was a fool, and ever will 
be," tried to take it away by force. 

The king did not enter the hall, but 
summoned the bishops and nobles, one by one, to 
an inner room, until Thomas was left alone with 
his two chaplains, Herbert of Bosham and 
William FItzstephen, and a few guards. After 
a noisy discussion and clashing of arms which 
made the archbishop and his chaplains fear fatal 
violence, the king and his party entered the hall, 
and Thomas was asked whether he had, In 
violation of his oath of allegiance to the king, 
appealed to the pope. His reply was firm and 
temperate ; whereupon the nobles were enraged 
at the defiance of the king's authority, and some 
of the bishops, led by Roger of York, begged the 




[J!. Sinclair d- Son. 





Slate MonUJJor castinij I'ilyrims' Sign of Crndjiiiov (ohvcrfc), oml nin<isfor svspr)nJing 
Signs, etc. (reverse). 

PILGRIMS' SIGNS AND MOULDS, IN THE MUSEUM, CANTERHUKV. 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 57 

archbishop to yield, but only to be answered, 
*'Get thee behind me, Satan." 

Again the council retired to consult, then 
the bishops re-entered the hall, and with Hilary 
of Chichester as their spokesman, charged 
Thomas with inconsistency in having made them 
subscribe the ''Constitutions," which involved 
fealty to the king, and now bidding them, on 
their allegiance to the Church, to support him in 
defying the king. He replied that all which 
took place at Clarendon promised loyalty, 
''except in matters touching the honour of the 
Church " ; and finding him immovable, the bishops 
ranged themselves on the other side of the hall, 
as a sign of their failure. The nobles then 
came forth, headed by the Earl of Leicester, 
who sorrowfully addressed the archbishop, con- 
cluding with the words, "And now hear the 
judgment of the court." But the archbishop 
stopped him, denying the king's right of judg- 
ment, stating that the power of the Church is 
to that of the Crown as gold is to lead, reminding 
them that he had appealed to the pope, and 
charging the earl to obey God rather than man. 

Then, bearing aloft his cross, and accompanied 
by his two faithful chaplains, Thomas strode 
majestically toward the door of the hall. At 
this ignoring of the king's authority there was 
a great outburst of jeers and execrations. Taunts 
and disgraceful epithets were hurled at the man 
whose power was broken, even by some who had 
been his friends and some whom he had fed, 
clothed, and raised to position. At each step 
that he took the tumult grew louder and fiercer. 
Some of the younger men picked up filth and 



58 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

refuse from amone(st the rushes on the floor, 
and hurled them toward him, while others pushed 
and crowded in his way, frenzied with excitement, 
half ready to tear him to pieces, yet checked liy 
his calm demeanour, his noble bearing, the 
memory of his old position and prowess, and 
the fear of offendint,^ aj^ainst his sacred office. 
For a while he controlled his temper, until, as he 
neared the dnnr he stumbled over a billet of tire- 
wood laid in the way, and almost fell to the 
cTfound, whereupon his persecutors burst into 
fresh taunts and peals of derisive lauj^hter, and 
the foremost pressed nearer than before. The 
archbishop's patience could stand no more, and 
turnini^ to bay he cried to a kni^dit who called 
him traitor, " Hut for my sacred office I would 
make you rue that word " ; at Ranulf de Broc he 
hurled a reminder that one of his relatives had 
been hammed ; and the brother of the kini^, Earl 
I lamelin, he denounced as a lout and a bastard. 
Thus checking the few foremost enemies, he 
again turned to leave the room, and at about 
this point the order of the king that he should 
be allowed to depart j^eacefully, began to quieten 
the crowd. 

Vrum the gate of the castle, which had been 
locked against the crowd, the gate-keeper was 
missing, but the archbishop's horse-keeper opened 
the gate, in a way regarcU^d by some of the 
chroniclers as miraculous. 

Without the castle an immense concourse 
waited, saddened and angered by rumours that 
the archbishop had been murdered, and when he 
appeared there was an enormous ovation of cheers 
and enthusiasm, and he rode through a surging, 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 59 

rejoicinor multitude, bearing aloft the cross with 
one hand, and blessing the alternately cheering* 
and sobbing people with the other. 

The rest of the pitiful story of the struggle 
need not be told at length, although it dragged 
over several years. After leaving the castle, 
Thomas asked for the royal safe- conduct, which 
the king refused, saying that he would consult 
the council on the morrow. There can be little 
question that he intended to force the archbishop 
Into fleeing the country as an outlaw, without 
funds or inlluence ; and to a large extent he was 
successful. Later in the day, a few nobles who 
professed to be still friendly to Thomas, informed 
him of a plot against his life, and that night, 
disguised, and with only three attendants he 
made his way into the fen country of Lincoln- 
shire. For eleven days he wandered, travelling 
by night, hiding by day, until on October 25, 
he reached Eastry, a couple of miles south-west 
of Sandwich, In Kent. On November 2, possibly 
spurred by hearing that an -embassy from the 
king to the pope was sailing on that day from 
Dover, and by the fact that he had not received 
answer from the pope to his own appeal from 
Northampton, he embarked with his three 
companions in a small open boat, almost certainly 
from Sandwich, and landed at Gravelines, where 
he found lod^Inir in a barn, and whence he wrote 
to the pope. 

On November 4, he found shelter in a monas- 
tery near St Omer, and on the 6th and 7th 
was in St Omer Itself, at the same time as the 
king's embassies to Louis of France, to the pope, 
and to the Count of Flanders. 



6o CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

About November 25, a great and imposing 
embassy from the king reached the court of the 
pope at Sens, and four days later arrived the 
archbishop with his pahry train of poor 
attendants. Thomas laid before the pope the 
Constitutions of ClarcMulon, and his own pon- 
tifical rincr, beofsfing that he might be removed 
from the great office into which he had been 
thrust against his will, and where; he felt that he 
had failed. The pope bade him retain his 
archbishopric, pronounced six of the Constitutions 
to be separately acceptable, but the whole to be 
intolerable, and advised Thomas to retire to the 
Cistercian Abbey of Pontigny, in Burgundy, 
where he was hospitably entertained for two 
years. 

At Christmas, Henry formally confiscated all 
the property of the See of Canterbury, and sent 
into exile all the relatives, servants, and known 
friends of the archbishop. Possibly with a view 
to adding insult to injury, he made Ranulf de 
Broc custodian of the see, who took up his 
residence in the archbishop's palace at Saltwood 
Castle. INIeanwhile, as the pope was in diffi- 
culties, an exile from Rome, and opposed by a 
strongly-supported anti-pope, he did not feel able 
to help his archbishop as he probably would have 
liked to do ; but, in July 1 165, he instructed Gilbert 
Foliot, Bishop of London, to associate himself 
with the Bishop of Hereford in admonishing the 
king re his relations with the archbishop. This 
they did, but with no result, and the pope urged 
them to further efforts. About October 14, 1165, 
Thomas himself wrote a long letter to the king, 
but with no result ; and, in April 1 166, the pope 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 6i 

felt called upon to move further In the matter. 
He addressed a letter to all the bishops, abbots, 
etc. (except the Bishop of York), appointing 
Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, as legate of 
all England, except the Bishopric of York. To 
Thomas he wrote authorising steps against all 
who had done violence to the property of the 
Church, but definitely refraining from dictating 
anything about the king's person. In May he 
Instructed all the bishops suffragan of the See of 
Canterbury to compel restitution by all those 
who at the king's command had taken benefices 
previously held by the archbishop's nominees ; 
the penalty of refusal to be anathema without 
appeal. And later In May he ordered the 
Archbishop of Rouen to teach the king more 
respect for the See of Rome, and better treatment 
of Thomas, failing which the king should be 
punished. 

Thus supported, Thomas wrote two letters, 
pleading with the king, but received no answer. 
Then he threatened excommunication, but hearing 
that the king was seriously 111, contented himself 
with making his threat public, denouncing the 
Constitutions, and excommunicating seven of the 
king's councillors. Henry responded by threaten- 
ing to expel all Cistercians from his dominions if 
the Order continued to shelter the archbishop, 
who therefore removed from Pontigny to the 
Benedictine Abbey of St Colombe, at Sens, which 
was under the special protection of the King of 
France. The king and the Anglican bishops 
under his influence appealed to the pope, and 
asked him to send legates to England to settle 
the dispute, but this was Impossible, since he had 



J 



62 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

already appointed Thomas his legate. The pope 
appointed '' arbitrators," but neither party would 
submit to their arbitration ; and thus the nego- 
tiations dragged on until January 1169, when 
Thomas unexpectedly appeared before the king 
at Montmirail, abased himself and threw himself 
upon the king's mercy, excepting, however, 
matters touching "God's honour and my order," 
which meant that he still refused full assent to 
the Constitutions. Henry drove him away in 
anger, and he shortly thereafter excommunicated 
two disobedient bishops and fourteen usurpers of 
church lands, and announced that if IkiH'y did 
not repent before b'ebruary 2, 1170, the whole 
of England should be laid under interdict. 

New attempts were made to patch up the 
matter, and both sides were urged to consent to 
personal reconciliation, without mention of the 
Constitutions ; and Thomas was induced to peti- 
tion on November 18, 11 69, for reinstatement of 
himself and his adherents in the king's favour and 
in enjoyment of all their rights and properties. 
To this Henry half-heartedly assented, but soon 
thereafter completed arrangements for his young 
son, Henry, to be crowned king by the Archbishop 
of York, the old rival of Thomas. Both Thomas 
and the pope forbade this as illegal, but the 
ceremony was performed on June 14, 11 70; and 
almost immediately the king seems to have 
realised that his defiance of the Church had gone 
too far. He hurried back to France, met Thomas, 
said no word about the Constitutions, but promised 
full reparation to the archbishop and his adherents, 
and to be "guided by the archbishop's counsel" 
in the matter of reparation to the See of Canter- 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 63 

bury for his defiance of its rights in the affair of 
the coronation. 

Meanwhile the offence of Roger of York had 
been even greater than that of the king. He had 
defied the pope's direct prohibition, and it was 
said that he had made a change, very offensive to 
the pope, in the wording of the coronation oath, so 
the pope suspended and very severely censured 
the archbishop and all the bishops who had taken 
part in the ceremony. Thomas learnt that the 
report re the oath was false, and begged the pope 
to lessen the sentence ; and at the same time had 
meetings with the king, at which it was agreed 
that they should return to England together and 
exchange the kiss of peace. At the last moment 
Henry pleaded inability to travel, and asked 
Thomas to sail under the escort of John of 
Oxford, one of his bitterest enemies ; but hearing 
of a plot between the Archbishop of York, the 
Bishops of London and Salisbury, and the Sheriff 
of Kent, to intercept him on landing and to seize 
any papal letters he might be carrying, Thomas 
made his own arranofements for sailin^f, landed at 
Sandwich on December i, and proceeded to 
Canterbury, where the people received him with 
great joy and enthusiasm. The king's officers 
met him with a demand for the unconditional 
absolution of the bishops who had been suspended, 
and he agreed to absolve those of London and 
Salisbury if they would swear to obey the pope. 
This they refused to do, and, with Roger of York, 
sailed to complain to the king. 

Thomas essayed to visit his former pupil, the 
young king, who now, although only fifteen years 
of age, was keeping a court of his own. On the 



64 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

way he was met by messengers ordering him, In 
the young king's name, to go and perform his 
sacred ministry at Canterbury. There, however, 
day after day passed, until Christmas, without 
any appearance of the king for the reconciliation 
he had promised, and without any restitution of 
property or rights. In his own castle of Salt wood 
the de Brocs were firmly established, and in- 
solently indifferent to his protests, and against 
them he heard many complaints from the tenants, 
neighbours, and poor folk. Even while he was 
on his way to visit the young king. Thomas heard 
that a vessel of French wines consi^nied to him at 
Canterbury had been seized at the port by Ranulf 
de Broc, who had beaten and killed some of the 
sailors, and imprisoned others in Pevensey Castle. 
A complaint to the young king secured an order 
for immediate redress, but the de Brocs were in 
nowise tamed — they saw clearly that Henry did 
not mean to support the archbishop, and that the 
peace between them was an unstable matter. 
Therefore they lay in wait to seize the archbishop, 
and f^iiling in that intention, they hunted in his 
parks, carried away his dogs, beat his servants, 
robbed the pack-trains bringing food for his 
household, and, in derision, cut off the tail of one 
of his pack-horses. The leaders in these doings 
were Ranulf de Broc, his brother Robert, who had 
been a clerk and a Cistercian monk, but who had 
returned to a secular life, and their nephew John. 
On Christmas Day, at high mass, the arch- 
bishop preached from the text, "Peace on earth 
to men of good will," and in the early part of the 
address, speaking of the troublous times, said there 
had already been one martyr Archbishop of 




THE PILGRIMS SXAIL. 

Helix pomatia, compared ivith the xcdl-known Helix aspersa (two). Helix nemoralis, 
and Cyclo.stoma elegaiis {tn-o'). 




PILGRIMS FLASKS, IN THE MUSEUM, CANTERBURY. 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 65 

Canterbury, and there might soon be another. 
He broke into tears and sobs when he spoke of 
himself as being shortly about to leave the world, 
and the whole audience was deeply moved. Then, 
waxing vehement, he denounced those who mis- 
represented him to the king, and the bishops who 
had taken part in the illegal coronation. He 
excommunicated two vicars who had resisted his 
officers, and also the de Brocs for their outrages. 

Henry's actual intentions, and the reasons for 
them, do not seem very clear. Probably he 
was frequently swayed to and fro, with much 
difficulty in finally deciding. The advisers of the 
young king evidently felt that the enormous popu- 
larity of the archbishop, wherever he went amongst 
the Anglo-Saxon people, threatened a possible 
rising against the Normans, for in ordering his 
return to Canterbury, they forbade him to linger 
in towns. Probably he was not so tactful as he 
might have been, for his progress back from 
London was slow ; he received great crowds, gave 
confirmation to large numbers of children, and 
worked many miracles of healing. Of all this, 
however, Henry can have known little when he 
gave an order, on or about Christmas Day, for the 
personal arrest of the archbishop, naming three 
commissioners for the purpose, who sent to the 
young king at Winchester for a party of knights 
to effect the arrest, and set guards at both the 
English and the continental ports to prevent any 
possibility of escape. 

Fate had not ordained, however, that these 
commissioners should make an arrest. Ro^er of 
York and the two excommunicated bishops had 
reached the king on December 26, and so had 

E 



66 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

messengers saying that Thomas was making 
triumphal progresses through the country, followed 
by an enthusiastic rabble, and by an armed force 
with which he besieged towns, and threatened to 
drive the young king from the land. Henry was 
furious, and broke into uncontrollable rage. " A 
fellow," he exclaimed, ** who has eaten my bread 
has lifted up his heel against me ! A fellow who 
first broke into my court on a lame horse, with a 
cloak for a saddle, swaggers on my throne, while 
you, the companions of my fortune, calmly look on. 
Of the caitiffs who eat my bread, are there none 
to rid me of this turbulent priest ? " l^he words 
were spoken in great anger, but four of the 
knights, Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy, 
Richard Brito, and Hugh de Morvillc, took them 
as a command, and started forthwith for England, 
where they visited Saltwood, and took council 
with the de Brocs. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE MARTYRDOM 

Thomas had more than once been warned of 
Norman assassins, and when the four knights 
reached Saltwood late on December 28, he was 
quickly advised by friends. His preparation to 
meet the danger was by confession to his chaplain 
and old tutor, Robert of Merton, after which he 
received communion in the cathedral, and was 
stripped and scourged in the chapter-house. 
This kind of penance had been his custom ever 
since he became archbishop. At three o'clock on 
the 29th he dined as usual, then retired to his 
private room and conversed with his friends and 
followers until the knights were announced, when 
he ordered them to be admitted, and continued his 
own conversation, not seeming to notice them. 
They were attended by an archer, and seated 
themselves amongst the monks, on the floor, near 
the archbishop, without any salutation. When he 
saw them he looked for some time in silence, then 
addressed Tracy, who did not reply. After a few 
moments, Fitzurse, looking pityingly upon the 
archbishop, muttered, *' God help thee," where- 
upon Thomas crimsoned with anger at the tone 
from such a man ; and the knights asked whether 

67 



68 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

he would hear the king's commands in private or 
before his attendants. John, of Salisbury, sug- 
gested that the clergy should retire, and they did 
so, but very soon Thomas recalled them to witness 
what should occur. The knights charged the 
archbishop with disloyalty to his recent compact 
with the king, and he replied that he believed he 
had done his full duty. They then said the king 
had ordered that he should go and do fealty to the 
young king, and swear to make amends for his 
treason ; and, naturally, he denied that he had 
ever been guilty of treason. Point after point 
was raised by the knights and answered by the 
archbishop ; until at length they fell into an 
unorovernable frenzy which was not unusual with 
Normans of the period, raging like madmen, 
jumping about, waving their arms, and tearing 
their gloves. The archbishop was partly infected, 
and with a blaze of his old-time war-spirit said he 
knew they had come to kill him, but cared not 
and feared them not, for he made God his shield, 
and having once run away from the country would 
flee no more. He reminded them that three of 
them had sworn fealty to him, and they angrily 
left the hall, followed by his last words of defiance. 
His friend John of Salisbury protested that 
Thomas should have suffered the men in patience, 
and referred the matter to his council. Thomas 
was calmed, and they all gradually came to think 
that the knights' visit had been a mere drunken 
frolic. Meanwhile the knights armed (or adjusted 
and exposed the armour which bad been hidden 
under their peaceful garb), and gathered the men 
they had brought from Saltwood Castle, and from 
the Abbey of St Augustine. They also, probably, 



^ 




THE MARTYRDOM 69 

revised the arrangements they had made to pre- 
vent any rising of the people in favour of the 
archbishop, for the Mayor of Canterbury had been 
ordered in the king's name to pubHcly forbid any 
assistance to the archbishop, and he had probably 
set guards at the gates and in the principal streets 
of the city. 

Tuesday had been a fateful day for Thomas, 
the day of his birth, of his flight from Northamp- 
ton, of his exile from England ; of his vision at 
Pontigny, warning him of martyrdom ; and of his 
return from exile. Some of those around him 
drew his attention to these facts, when a cellarman 
of the priory, who had been talking with one of 
the soldiers of the knights party, said that the 
archbishop would never see the evening of Tues- 
day. At this and other more definite warnings 
he only smiled sadly, reminding his friends that he 
had often said in France that he should not live 
into the next year, and that only two days 
remained of the present one. In the early 
morning he had spoken gloomily, in a way the 
attendants did not understand at the time, but 
rememxbered afterward, of the possibility of any one 
reaching Sandwich before daylight, and had 
added^ — "Well, let any one escape who wishes to 
do so." It is very difficult to explain the whole 
conduct of Thomas on this fatal day, but it is 
clear that he knew the danger to be serious. 
Probably his feelings included weariness and 
despair, a certain gratification at the thought of 
martyrdom, and at the prospect of rest after long, 
heart-breakino^ struororles, with flashes of the self- 
willed opposition roused in a strong man by the 
nearness of his enemies, contempt for the men 



70 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

who were now threaten Incr him, and perhaps an 
underlying thought that in the last resort the 
sanctuary of the cathedral or the interference of 
the common people, who almost worshipped him, 
would stay the knights from the fatal extreme. 
Now one, now another of these feelings came 
uppermost, controlling the action of the moment. 

The conduct of the knights was equally 
vacillating and contradictory. In the heat of 
their passion, roused by the king's fury, they had 
left the court with hearts full of murder. At 
Saltwood Castle, reinforced by de Broc, who was 
furious under his recent excommunication, and 
sitting as they did, amidst the theatrical 
surroundings of an absolutely darkened chamber, 
that they might not see each others' faces, they 
undoubtedly planned murder. In the hearing of 
some of their followers they must have mentioned 
that the archbishop must die, but their conduct 
is only consistent with the theory that none of 
them in his cooler moments believed the extreme 
step to be necessary. They expected the arch- 
bishop to yield to all the wishes of the king, and 
foresaw for themselves certain glory as the 
instruments in forcing this obedience. 

The knights were not long in making their 
military preparations after their interview with 
the archbishop, and soon returned to the palace. 
The gloom of night must have fallen over 
Canterbury and its cathedral, for it was the end 
of December, and the dinner (not a hurried 
feast), which began at three o'clock, had been 
followed by time for at least some conversation 
between Thomas and his followers, for the scene 
with the knights, and for their arming. When 



THE MARTYRDOM 71 

they returned to the palace they found the doors 
closed and barred, and their hammering with 
sword-hilts brought no response. They did not 
knock long, however, for they were probably 
guided by William Fitz Nigel, the archbishop's 
seneschal, who had left his service only that very 
afternoon, and had, in fact, met the knights and 
turned back to introduce them, on their first 
appearance. In any case, guided by some one 
who knew the palace, they went through the 
orchard to where one of the windows was being 
replaced, and where the builders' scaffolding 
stood. Here they probably found those "hat- 
chets and axes " which are mentioned in the 
contemporary accounts as having been part of 
their armament, and with which they quickly 
hewed down the boarding placed by the builders 
over their opening in the wall. The knights 
thus gained the inner courtyard, from which the 
servants scattered in all directions, "like sheep 
before wolves," some of them running into the 
room to bid their master flee to the church. 
" But he, mindful of his promise that he would 
not flee from these mere murderers of the body, 
refused to fly. The m.onks pressed him, urging 
that it was unseemly to absent himself from 
vespers, which were just then being sung in the 
church. Still he remained unmoved, deliberately 
resolved to await in a less sacred place that 
blessed consummation which he had sought with 
many sighs and prayers : lest reverence for the 
sacred building might arrest the purpose of the 
impious and defraud the Saint himself of the 
desire of his heart. For he is reported to have 
said in the hearing of many, after his return from 



72 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

exile, * Ye have here one true Saint and Martyr, 
Elphegus, beloved of God. The divine com- 
passion will provide for you another, and without 
delay.' But when neither reason nor entreaty 
could persuade him to seek refuge in the church, 
he was seized by the monks, who pulled, carried, 
and pushed him, in spite of his opposition, and 
appeals to them to desist." 

So they came near the cellarer's door to the 
monks' cloisters, the enemy seeming close on 
their heels. One or more who ran in advance 
had opened the door, where (apparently) they 
expected great difficulty with the bolt or bolts, so 
much so that some of the accounts speak of it 
as a miraculous opening. After entering the 
cloister, some wished to fasten the door, but the 
archbishop would not allow it. Noticing that 
his cross-bearer lagged behind, he ordered the 
crucifix to be brought forward, and made some 
hasty attempt to organise a formal procession. 
'' He walked on slowly, last of all, driving the 
rest before him, as sheep before a good shepherd. 
For the love of God had so cast out fear that 
neither in gesture nor step could it be noticed. 
It was as far from his outward appearance as 
from the inner stronc;-hold of his soul. Once he 
cast a glance over his right shoulder, perhaps to 
see whether the king's men pressed closely, 
perhaps to see that none barred the door." 

Along the north and the east cloisters the 
party passed, and even in that short journey the 
archbishop had three struggles with himself and 
with his monks ; his care for them urging them 
on, his contempt for the knights, his great 
natural courage, and his resolve to die a martyr, 




Mm'i 



THE MARTYRDOM 73 

urging him to meet his enemies without the 
church. Twice in the cloisters he refused to go 
further, and as the chapter-house door was 
reached, he turned into that grand but unconse- 
crated room, determined to await his foes. But 
the monks, by force and by persuasion, brought 
him to the door in the south-east corner of the 
cloisters, leading into the north transept. 

Meanwhile, without the palace and the 
cathedral, rumour was busy. Crowds of people 
had collected, and rent the air with cries and 
lamentations for the archbishop who had been, or 
was to be, cruelly butchered. The brethren in 
the cathedral, undisturbed by the tumult without, 
were chanting the vesper service, when two 
servants rushed into the choir, with faces full of 
fear. The brethren hurriedly broke up their 
service, and the story that the archbishop, was 
slain rapidly spread amongst them. Some ran 
for hiding-places or for the doors, a few tried to 
resume the service, and some, going to the 
cloister door, met the archbishop, who was 
welcomed by one with the words — *' Enter, 
father, enter ; abide with us, that if need be, we 
may together suffer and be glorified. We have 
been as dead through your absence, let your 
presence console us." 

The moment the archbishop entered the cathe- 
dral, Fitzurse, with drawn sword, appeared at 
the cellarer's door, at the far corner of the cloister. 
Turning back, he called to his comrades, ''This 
way ! King's men ! King's men ! " and in a few 
moments he was joined by the other knights, who 
proceeded along the west and south sides of 
the cloisters. Meanwhile the monks had drawn 



74 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Thomas into the transept, and without waiting 
for all those who were with him in the cloister, 
closed and beo^an to barricade the door. This 
the archbishop hindered, saying, " Make not a 
fortress of the house of God ; by suffering, rather 
than by fighting, we shall triumph over the 
enemy " ; then as the door was thrown open, he 
drew the foremost with his own hands, crying, 
'* Come in, come in with all speed." Again there 
was just time to close the door in the face of 
the knights, and some essayed to do so. Again 
Thomas faced about, saying, '' What do these 
folk fear ? " and when they answered, '' The armed 
men," he replied, '* I am going forth to meet 
them. Let all come into the Church of God who 
wish. God's will be done." Again his friends 
pressed around him, trying to force him to the 
high altar, as the place of greatest sanctity and 
safety, while some urged him to hide or defend 
himself in the crypt, or in one of the many upper 
passages. They forced him up a few steps toward 
the choir, but he again shook himself loose, 
bidding them go finish their vespers ; and as they 
hesitated, wavered, or tied, he stepped back to 
meet the knights, who, with Robert de Broc, 
now strode through the door, crying, " Where is 
Thomas Becket, traitor to king and country ? " 
To this there was no answer ; then Reginald 
Fitzurse cried, ''Where is the archbishop?" to 
which Thomas replied : " Here ; no traitor, but 
archbishop. Reginald, if thou seekest the arch- 
bishop, thou hast found him." Then, turning 
to the larger party of the knights, he asked, 
" What will ye ? " Whereupon some cried, *' Thy 
death," and others — or perhaps some of his 



THE MARTYRDOM 75 

friends, cried, *' Flee, flee," and he mildly answered, 
*' I am ready to suffer in the name of Him who 
redeemed me ; far be it from me to flee, or to 
move one step from the straight path of righteous- 
ness. In the name of God, touch not one of 
these." 

Trying to remove him from the church there 
was much hustling for a few moments, one struck 
him with the flat of a sword, calling upon him to 
flee. Fitzurse seized him by the mantle, and 
others tried to thrust him on to the shoulders of 
William de Tracy, who stooped to raise him upon 
his back. At this rough handling, the arch- 
bishop's anger flared up. For a moment he 
simply resisted, and was helped by one of his 
sturdy followers (probably Edward Grim), who 
placed one arm around his master and the other 
around the pillar in the centre of the transept. 
Then, gathering his great strength, Thomas 
shook himself free of friend and foe alike, throw- 
ing Fitzurse from him with a violence that made 
him stagger, and crying, " Back ! pander. Touch 
me not, you owe me fealty. You and your fellows 
are mad, to come thus, armed, Into holy church." 
Furious at the rebuff, Fitzurse cried, " I owe no 
fealty against my loyalty to my lord the king. 
Strike ! strike ! " and raising his sword, rushed 
at the archbishop. As the blow fell. Grim inter- 
posed his cloaked arm, which partly turned the 
sword aside, but such was the force of the stroke 
that after almost severing the protecting arm, it 
glanced along the left side of the archbishop's 
head, wounding both head and shoulder, and 
tearing through the many garments on his arm. 
Though dazed by the shock, Thomas bent his 



76 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

head, clasped and raised his hands, and in a few 
words commended himself and the Church to God 
and the saints. Grim, who had been dashed to 
the ground, crept a few feet to the nearest altar. 
A second blow (almost certainly from William de 
Tracy) fell on the head of the archbishop, and a 
third, on the same spot, caused him to sink on 
his knees, his hands, still clasped, falling before 
him, and his head gradually bending forward 
until he lay flat on his face. As he fell, he 
murmured some words, faintly heard by the 
wounded Grim, who reports them as: ''For the 
name of Jesus, and the guarding of the Church, 
I am ready to embrace death." As he lay pros- 
trate, Richard le Brito struck a great blow, which 
completely severed the top of the skull, and struck 
the pavement with such violence as to break 
his sword. Hugh of Horsea (sometimes called 
Mauclerc) chaplain of Ranulf de Broc, who had 
joined the others as they entered the cathedral, 
was taunted with having; struck no blow. He 
placed his foot on the shoulders of the corpse, 
thrust the point of his sword into the great 
wound and scattered the brains upon the floor, 
saying, " The traitor is dead ; he will rise no 
more. Let us go." 

They turned to the door, where Hugh de 
Morville, the only knight who struck no blow, 
had been holdinor back a crowd of townsfolk who 
had pressed after the knights ; and with their 
war-cry of, "King's men! King's men !" rushed 
back through the cloisters. One man, who ven- 
tured to lament the murder, was wounded by 
them ; then under the guidance of Robert de 
Broc, they ransacked the archbishop's palace, 



THE MARTYRDOM ^^ 

seizing money, valuable vessels, costly raiment, 
and the splendid horses from the stables for 
themselves and followers, and taking many papal 
bulls, charters and other documents, which 
Ranulf de Broc afterward forwarded to the 
king. 

Then, in the darkness of the mid-winter night, 
mounted on their stolen steeds and laden with 
plunder, the knights started for their dark ride 
over the long fifteen miles of the Roman Stone 
Street, back to Saltwood Castle. 

Little they recked of the actual murder, for 
they were men of blood and war, and they 
believed they had served and pleased the king ; 
but they could hardly fail, in that age when the 
sanctity of the Church was so strongly regarded, 
to be conscience-stricken by the thought of their 
sacrilege. 

Robert de Broc was left in charge of the 
plundered palace, and we shall return to his 
doings anon. 

When the knights reached Saltwood Castle, 
they talked over their exploit, and each boasted of 
his part in the murder ; but evidently they were 
uneasy and fearful of the vengeance of the Church, 
for next day they fled from Saltwood to South 
Mailing, a manor of the archbishop's near Lewes 
— a ride of forty miles. Here they threw their 
weapons and armour upon a great table in the 
hall, which after supper "started back and threw 
its burden to the ground. The servants replaced 
the arms, but a second, still louder crash was 
heard, and the things were found to have been 
thrown still further off. Soldiers and servants 
sought in vain for the cause of this action, until 



y^ CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

one of the knights suggested that the table was 
refusing to bear sacrilegious weapons." What- 
ever may have been the truth of this story, it was 
commonly believed, and the table was shown a 
couple of centuries later. That conscience, or 
fear of the Church was working, is shown by the 
fiigfht from South Mallino- to Knaresborouoh, in 
Yorkshire, the property of Hugh de Morville, 
who was justice itinerant of Northumberland and 
Cumberland, forester of Cumberland, a great 
land-owner in the North, and altogether the most 
important member of the murderous band. From 
this point the knights' careers are not entirely 
certain, although many pieces of record and 
evidence, laboriously collated and compared, show 
us that the popular traditions associating them 
with miraculous disease, disastrous wanderings 
and death (in the Holy Land, in Mechlin, etc.), 
under dramatic circumstances, are quite unre- 
liable. For a time they were under a cloud, but 
within a couple of years of the murder they were 
fully reinstated at court, and some of them 
quickly rose to important position, while all seem 
to have been fairly prosperous. As a matter of 
fact, the enemies of Thomas both in church and 
in court, were in the ascendant, and although 
there was a great display of homage for Thomas 
the marytr, this was for a long time largely con- 
fined to the poorer people, and had no effect upon 
the opponents of Thomas the politician. The 
Church exacted penance for sacrilege, but had 
no power to punish for the murder ; since the 
very principle for which Thomas had so stoutly 
contended, prevented the trial of the murderer of 
a priest by any but a clerical court, and the 



THE MARTYRDOM 79 

greatest punishment In the hands of such a court 
was excommunication. 

Not only as regards the murderers themselves, 
but also as regards the curse upon, and the rapid 
extinction of their families, tradition Is at fault. 
The actual fact is that most of them established 
prosperous, influential, and even titled families, 
some of which can be traced to this day. 



CHAPTER V 

MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 

As the archbishop fell prostrate, almost the last 
of the churchmen fled to the high altar for 
sanctuary, or to other parts of the cathedral for 
hiding. But as the knights passed away, and the 
wondering, horrified crowd of townspeople began 
to press into the transept, the servants and the 
brethren soon gathered, cleared and closed the 
cathedral, and then probably assembled under 
Odo the prior to consult as to what should 
be done. Meanwhile, Osbert, the archbishop's 
chamberlain, brought candles to set on the altar 
in St Benedict's Chapel, near the body. He saw 
the terrible wound, where the top of the skull 
hung by a piece of skin, and, tearing his own shirt, 
bound up the head. Then the monks returned 
from their hasty conference, saw the body lying 
face downward, with the hands clasped above the 
head as if in prostrate prayer, and with the brains 
and the blood mingling on the head and on the 
pavement^ — *' the blood brightened from the brain, 
and the brain reddened by the blood, as if the 
rose and the lily were beautifully blended to- 
gether." When they saw this, they burst into 

loud lamentations ; but soon they turned the body 

so 




SOUTH AMBULATORY OF CRYPT, CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. 

Ajyproacliing IJurial-place of St Thomns. 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 8i 

over, and when they saw the calm beauty of the 
countenance, wreathed in a smile, the eyes closed 
in peaceful sleep, a rich colour warm upon the 
cheeks, and with no disfigurement save one thin 
streak of blood running from the right temple 
across the nose and the left cheek, their cries gave 
place to wonder and admiration. Beneath the 
body they found an axe, which Fitzurse had 
dropped when he drew his sword, and a hammer, 
used in breaking into the palace, and near it were 
the pieces of the sword of le Brito. The scattered 
brains and blood were collected into vessels, and 
the body was reverently placed on a bier, to be 
carried to the choir, and laid before the high altar. 
Tongues were loosed, and while the monks decried 
the sacrilege, they said comparatively little of the 
murder, some going so far as to say that the 
death was the natural result of obstinacy, while 
another observed, '' He wished to be king, and 
more than king ; let him be king." But as the 
body was taken to the choir, these murmurs were 
hushed. While the townsfolk still stood and 
wondered in the transept, the monks, in the 
''glorious choir of Conrad," sat around the bier, 
in the soft mellow light of the great candles that 
had not been extinguished after the vespers, and 
commented in hushed whispers, while Robert of 
Merton told the private life and secret austerities 
of their dead master. The early schoolmaster, 
intimate friend, and confessor of the archbishop 
told them of haircloth and the monastic habit 
hidden for years under the sumptuous robes of the 
prelate, and of constant scourgings and self- 
mortifications in secret by the man whom they had 
despised as luxurious. One of the complaints 

F 



82 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

against Thomas had been that he who was no 
monk had been made abbot of the monastery 
(which office was involved in the archbishopric), 
and as Robert gave them, piece by piece, the 
evidence of his true monasticism, and of the 
humihty which had led him to accept taunt and 
reproach rather than display his self-mortifications, 
the wonder grew and the excitement of the monks 
increased. When, in proof of his statements the 
aged confessor moved the outer garments, and 
drew into sis^ht the monk's habit and the hair- 
cloth shirt, the brethren could contain themselves 
no longer, but burst into shouts of joy, crowded 
and knelt around the corpse, kissing the cold 
hands and feet, and crying, " Saint Thomas ! 
Saint Thomas ! " 

At this sound the common people crowded 
into the choir to gaze upon him who had been 
proclaimed a saint, and just about this time 
began what was to develop into the characteristic 
observance of the cult of St Thomas. It has 
been said that his brains and blood were gathered 
up. As the body was laid before the altar, 
vessels were placed below the bier to catch any 
drops of blood that might fall, and after the 
saintship was proclaimed, Arnold, the goldsmith 
of the abbey, took a vessel, with water and cloths, 
to wash up from the floor the last traces of blood 
remaining on the stones. Some of the citizens 
now, or earlier, dipped their fingers or pieces of 
cloth in the blood-spots, and one of these, 
dipping a portion of his shirt, afterward washed 
the blood into a little water which he gave to his 
paralytic wife, who was completely cured of her 
paralysis. Leaving miracles for the moment. 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION S3 

however, we may return to the doings of the 
monks. Early on the morning after the murder, 
word was brought to them that Robert de Broc, 
who remained in charge of the palace, had sworn 
that the body should not be buried amongst 
archbishops, and had threatened to drag it from 
the cathedral, hang it on a gibbet, tear it with 
horses, cut it in pieces, or throw it in some pond 
or gutter to be eaten by swine or carrion birds. 
He had declared, '' By the body of St Denis, if 
St Peter had so dealt with the king and I had 
been there, I would have driven my sword into 
his skull." 

In fear of this fresh violence, the monks 
determined to bury the body quickly and secredy 
in the crypt. They closed the doors against the 
town folk, and, headed by the Abbot of Boxley 
and Richard the archbishop's chaplain (who 
became the next primate), proceeded to unrobe 
the body. The number of garments was 
astonishingly great, probably because of the 
wearer's chilly disposition, and as they were 
removed, surprise was expressed that he whom 
they had believed to be portly with high living, 
was really very spare. Wonder, too, was excited 
by finding the black, cowled habit of the 
Benedictines, and, under all, a hair shirt and 
drawers, of exceeding roughness, covered with 
linen outside, to prevent any chance of being 
seen, closely fitting to the flesh and swarming 
with vermin — ''boiling over with them, like water 
in a sinimering cauldron." Revolting as this 
appears, it was then regarded as the very extreme 
of saintly self-mortification ; and to a man of the 
refinement and fastidious taste of Thomas, it 



84 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

must have been an especially severe penance. 
At the sight the monks first looked at one 
another in silent amazement, then bursting into 
mingled laughter and tears in their half-hysterical 
joy at finding such a saint, they said to each 
other, *'See how true a monk he was, and we 
knew it not." Then, deeming that he was more 
truly cleansed by self-mortification than he could 
be by washing with water, and dreading lest de 
Broc might interrupt if they delayed, they washed 
not the corpse. Leaving the hair garments, 
linen shirt, and hose, and Benedictine habit, they 
placed over him, as he had wished, the magnifi- 
cent vestments in which he had been consecrated 
archbishop. To these they added his official 
robes and insignia ; — tunic, dalmatic, chasuble 
and pall, gloves, rings, and sandals, the sacred 
chalice and the pastoral staff; and laid the body 
in a tomb of marble, which they buried in the 
crypt behind the shrine of the Blessed Virgin. 
Though many alterations have been made in the 
crypt, which then contained many altars, shrines, 
and chapels, the spot may still be seen, under 
what is now the chapel of the Trinity, at the east 
end of the cathedral ; and behind the very 
beautiful chapel of Our Lady of the Undercroft. 

The remains of blood and brain were placed 
outside the grave, the crypt with its many 
chapels and altars was closed, and no funeral 
service was rendered, because of the desecration 
of the church. In the cathedral itself were all 
the signs of deepest mourning, not for the 
murdered man, but for the insult offered to God. 
No mass was sung, no bells were rung, the flag- 
stones were taken from the floor, and hangings 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 85 

from the walls, the altars were stripped and the 
crucifixes covered from sight. In this state the 
place remained for nearly a year, until on 
December 21, 1171, on the day of St Thomas 
the Apostle (with the sanction of the pope's 
legates), it was re-consecrated, with a mass cele- 
brated and a sermon preached by Bartholomew, 
Bishop of Exeter. During all this time the 
services, without music, were conducted in the 
unconsecrated chapter-house. 

Almost immediately, if not on the very day of 
the burial, miracles began to be reported, and 
whatever may be the explanation given by 
modern scepticism, modern science, or modern 
faith, to account for the wonders, this, at least, is 
historically clear — that the stories of the earlier 
wondrous works were not invented or even 
encouraged by the monks ; and that the cult 
grew by force of the gratitude of those who 
believed they were healed, and who overcame 
great difficulties and dangers, to show their 
thankfulness. 

When early reports of miracles came to the 
monks, they kept them secret, and mentioned 
them only in the chapter-house, probably partly 
because many retained something of their old 
jealousy against Thomas, and certainly largely 
because all were afraid of de Broc and his rude 
men-at-arms, dwelling In the palace. The king, 
the nobles, and knights, the principal bishops and 
higher clergy frowned upon and disputed the 
stories of marvellous cures. The Archbishop of 
York (the old enemy, Roger Pont I'Eveque) 
declared, when supporting the government's 
endeavour to suppress the miracles, that Thomas, 



86 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

like Pharaoh, had perished in his pride. The de 
Brocs with their following kept all the roads and 
near bridges leading into Canterbury, and 
guarded the gates of the city and the doors of 
the hospices, with men who were charged to 
intimidate, and, if necessary, to arrest any who 
spoke of the miracles or praised the martyr. But 
the matter became common talk, for the 
enthusiasm of those who had lost their ailments 
could not be suppressed. When deterred from 
speaking openly, they only talked the more 
amongst their neighbours and friends, and when 
attempts were made to throw doubt or discredit 
on the miracles, they replied somewhat after the 
fashion of the man healed at the Pool of Siloam : 
*' Whether he be a sinner, I know not : one 
thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now 
I see." 

As one by one, and afterward in larger 
companies, the people came to give thanks at 
the tomb of the martyr, and to offer candles and 
gifts of money, the monks were obliged to 
appoint one of their number to sit at the tomb 
and receive the offerings ; and they early 
appointed Benedict, one of their number, to 
record the most interesting of the reported 
miracles, and to sift the evidence, because the 
de Brocs and their party were searching for 
proofs of fraud to use against the monks. 
Benedict was careful, and very obviously honest, 
methodical, and sceptical of inexact evidence. 
He gives particulars of the diseases, many of 
them of nervous origin, admits that some of the 
cures were imperfect at first and only gradually 
became complete, while others were temporary 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION Sj 

in their effects ; and tells of one perfect cure, made 
with what was believed to be the "Water of St 
Thomas," though really the liquid was a fraud. 

Benedict begins his account by the story of 
three visions of the martyr seen by himself, and 
relates the first miracle as having occurred to the 
wife of a knight in Sussex. She was blind and 
infirm, and when she heard of the murder, three 
days after it happened, she hailed Thomas as a 
saint, and cried, " St Thomas, precious martyr of 
Christ, I devote myself to thee. If thou wilt 
restore the blessing of my lost sight and health, 
I will visit thy resting-place to pay vows and 
offerings." Immediately she received her sight, 
and in six days her strength was restored. She 
delayed her pilgrimage and the infirmity returned 
worse than before, but on making a second vow, 
she recovered at once, and, with husband and 
household, repaired to Canterbury to give thanks. 

We do not know exactly when Benedict 
began to write his record, but Edward Grim, 
relating the miracle above detailed, says that it, 
and several other miracles were kept quiet for a 
time, as though they were not believed, until the 
very multitude of marvellous acts broke down 
the opposition of the impious. Benedict may 
have begun recording immediately, though the 
accounts were not published. Easter of 1171 
saw a special wealth of miraculous cases, which 
was repeated at the same time in the next year, 
when Benedict became so overwhelmed with the 
work of recording that another brother, William, 
was called in to help. He had not the systematic 
mind of Benedict, and finding that even the two 
of them could not deal with the whole, he frankly 



88 CANTERBURY PI LCxRI MAGES 

says that he selected only those cases which were 
most fully authenticated, most interesting or 
most instructive, "following the truth, and not 
the order ; for what came early or what came 
late there is neither leisure to attend to, nor 
does it make much difference." Some of 
William's narratives are of the same cases as 
dealt with by Benedict. In certain instances 
they are evidently only independent condensations 
of notes or evidence taken for Benedict's account, 
but in other instances they are the result of later 
investigation and the examination of additional 
witnesses ; at times throwing interesting light 
upon the earlier accounts. 

The earliest reported miracles were, naturally, 
from Canterbury, the neighbouring country, and 
London. Even from the first the careful 
Benedict seems to have made selection, though 
he wrote all down in the order in which he heard 
of them, for he does not give the story of the 
paralytic wife of the Canterbury citizen, which 
is given by Edward Grim as the earliest miracle. 
At first, most of the cases were of folk in humble 
position and the number of men and of women 
was about equal, but as the total number of 
wonders increased, the recorders gave less 
attention to healing of poor folk and of women, 
probably because they were so much more 
numerous, and, therefore, relatively less interesting 
than cases of men in position. 

The second miracle recorded by Benedict was 
at Gloucester, on the fifth day after the martyr- 
dom, when Huelina, a London girl of sixteen, 
was cured of a periodical swelling of the head 
which had occurred since she was five years old. 




IN THE CRYPT OF CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. 
Original Place of Burial of ."it Thomas. 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 89 

The next day a knight in Berkshire, one William 
Belet, was cured of a great pain and swelling of 
the left arm, which had kept him bedridden for 
three months ; and on the next day (January 4) a 
poor, blind, Canterbury woman borrowed a rag 
that had been dipped in the martyr's blood, 
touched her eyes and instantly received her 
sight. On January 5, William de Capella, of 
London, a priest who had lost his speech through 
paralysis, came to the monks saying that a 
vision had appeared to him, and thrice to one of 
his clerical friends, saying that if he would visit 
Canterbury he should be healed. The monks 
gave him blood of the martyr, mingled with 
water, and he permanently regained his speech 
and resumed his sacred office. The only other 
case recorded before Lent, is of Stephen, a knight 
of Hoyland, who was cured of an obsession 
which had haunted him for thirty years. 

During Lent, 1171, William Patrick, servant, 
of Warbleton, was cured by vision of maddening 
pain in the jaw ; Robert, son of a knight of 
Surrey, bedridden by liver disease for eleven 
weeks after ineffective treatment by London 
physicians, was cured by appeal to St Thomas ; 
Alditha of Worth, near Sandwich, was saved 
from death In childbirth by touching with a 
handkerchief the martyr had blessed ; Ulviva, 
principal of a leper hospital, witnessed the 
miraculous m.ultipllcation of some of the saint's 
blood In a wooden vessel ; William of Bourne 
found that some of the blood, given to an un- 
worthy pardoner, broke the pyx in which it was 
placed, and disappeared ; the same William saved 
a child's life by wrapping it in St Thomas's pall ; 



90 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

the son of a Canterbury citizen regained his 
speech through drinking some of the blood- 
tinctured water, as commanded in a vision ; and 
Goditha, wife of Matthew, of Canterbury, afflicted 
with horribly swollen legs, was secretly carried 
to the tomb by two neighbours and touched with 
the tinctured water. She at once began to amend, 
and continued improving daily until her full 
strength was regained. 

Many more great acts, says Benedict, were 
done before Easter, but they were ''small and 
almost to be despised " compared with those that 
came after. 

Very soon it came to be recognised that the 
saint worked miracles in a few principal ways, 
viz. : — First, by virtue of a garment which he 
had touched or of water tinctured with his blood : 
Second, in answer to vows of pilgrimage or gift : 
Third, by unsought vision. The blood and 
brains gathered on the first evening were mixed 
with water, and this was diluted again and 
again, so that it sufficed to supply a tiny phial 
or ampulla to each of the hundreds of thousands 
of pilgrims who flocked to the shrine in suc- 
ceeding centuries. These ampullae became the 
special token of Canterbury pilgrims, just as the 
palm denoted one returning from the Holy Land, 
or the cockle-shell a votary from the shrine 
of St James of Compostella. Vows of gift gradu- 
ally took the general form of a promise of a 
candle of the length of the sufferer, or in some 
rare cases of wealthy people, of the weight of 
the sufferer : and it became recognised that many 
invalids began to amend, and some completely 
recovered from the moment when they were 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 91 

*' measured for St Thomas." The vision is said to 
have helped many who knew nothing of the appear- 
ance of the saint until their description of his face, 
with the blood-mark from the right temple to the 
left cheek, caused the vision to be identified. 

On Easter Day, 1171, a crowd of Canterbury 
people claimed admittance to the crypt, to which 
hitherto, people had only been admitted singly 
and in secret. They had heard of a man who 
claimed to have been possessed of a dumb devil 
for five years, who had wallowed and foamed on 
the floor, and thereafter received his speech and 
composure as promised by two figures seen in a 
dream. The townsfolk accused the monks of 
hiding the talent entrusted to them, envying the 
martyr his glory, and robbing the sick of the 
blessing of health. Many were admitted, two or 
three were cured, and on the following Friday the 
monks decided to open the crypt freely, where- 
after the monks had to tend and comfort "sick 
folk lying in pain all about the church," and '' the 
scene of the Pool of Bethesda was being continu- 
ally renewed, great and wonderful miracles were 
of daily occurrence." 

People of all conditions reported cures of 
almost all possible kinds of disease and injury ; 
in some cases the saint gave a painless death to 
those in orreat sufferino^ • in two instances he told 
the suppliants they should not recover, and gave 
his reasons ; a girl falling down a deep well, was 
saved by the miraculous creation of a stout beam 
from wall to wall ; — and so on, in almost endless 
variety. Even the dead were raised to life. 
How, then, could one wonder that in spite of 
the king and the Archbishop of York, and the 



92 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

party of de Broc, pilgrims wishing for healing, 
or anxious to give thanks and candles and gifts 
became every day more numerous. 

Religious pilgrimages were no new thing. 
Herodotus tells us that 700,000 pilgrims was no 
uncommon number to take part in the annual 
festival at the shrine of Bubastes, in ancient 
Egypt ; Charlemagne, at his council at Chalons- 
sur-Soane, in a.d. 813, protested against and 
attempted to restrain pilgrimages, as interfering 
with ordinary callings and unsettling the people. 
Even at the time of the death of Thomas, 
England was full of shrines, relics, roods, and 
other places of pilgrimage, all with more or less 
repute for miracles ; for the Christian pilgrimages 
had begun about the fourth century and were 
popular all through Saxon times. Those who 
could not visit Rome, Compostella, or the Holy 
Land, had choice of many home shrines. To 
mention only a few, there were St Cuthbert, 
Durham ; St William, York ; St William-the- 
Less, Norwich ; St Hugh, Lincoln ; St Erken- 
wald, London ; St Wulstan, Worcester ; St 
Swithun, St Valentine, St Judoc, and others, 
Winchester ; St Edmund, Bury ; Saints Ethel- 
dreda and Withburga, Ely ; St Thomas, Here- 
ford ; St Frideswide, Oxford ; St Werburgh, 
Chester ; St Wilfrid, Ripon ; St Richard, Chi- 
chester ; St Osmund, Salisbury ; and St Paulinus, 
Rochester. In fact, every cathedral and many 
churches had a shrine of more or less importance. 
Amongst those of most note stood those of Our 
Lady of Walsingham, second only to St Thomas 
of Canterbury in the whole history of pilgrim- 
popularity, and of the Virgin, at Lynn, at Canter- 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 93 

bury and at Westminster. Westminster also had 
the relics of Edward the Confessor ; Chester and 
Bromeholm had pieces of the true cross ; St 
Paul's, London, had a great and famous rood in 
the churchyard ; Wilsden and Bexley had noted 
statues of the virgin, and many village churches 
had their object of pilgrimage ; — as the statue 
of Our Lady of Chatham, the holy rood of 
Gillingham, and the many altars and chapels at 
Faversham — all these on the pilgrims' road from 
London to Canterbury. 

To give any fair idea of the number of relics, 
works of art, and what we should now call 
** curiosities," kept in monasteries and other 
religious houses and exhibited to the curious and 
pious, would take far more space than can here 
be spared ; but Boxley Abbey (on the pilgrims' 
way from Winchester to Canterbury) rejoiced in 
two *'subtelties," which were severely condemned 
by the examiners under Henry VIII., and this 
may be taken as a fair example of the others. 
Relics of saints, bones, and clothing, wonder- 
working statues and pictures and tombs, were 
scattered all over the country, and all were the 
subjects of pilgrims' visits and devotion. 

It is not surprising, then, that when the 
miracles of St Thomas began to be noised abroad, 
the suffering and the unfortunate — even those 
who had already tried many shrines without 
success — should flock to the new fount of 
healing. 

On the very night of the murder some of 
the monks had left Canterbury to lay the facts 
before the pope, and his legates were sent, many 
months later, to investigate the murder, but there 



94 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 



1 



was then no thought of canonisation. In the 
next year, however, as the fame of the miracles 
spread, the pope sent a legation to test the truth 
of the stories, and they returned to Rome bearing 
a tunic stained with the martyr's blood, a piece 
of the pavement, and some part of the scattered 
brain, of which portions are still preserved in the 
reliquary of Santa Maria Maggiore. As a result 
of this enquiry, the pope wrote letters authorising 
the canonisation of the martyr, and a council met 
at Westminster to accept and confirm the sugges- 
tion. The formal canonisation took place on 
Ash Wednesday, February 21, 1173, ^^^ the 
date of the martyrdom, December 29, was made 
the feast of St Thomas of Canterbury. 

As the popularity of the shrine and the value 
of the offerings increased, the king, who could not 
prevail to suppress the pilgrimages, insisted on 
receiving half the gifts ; but soon the pressure of 
public feeling overwhelmed even his power ; he 
bowed to the storm and became a most devout 
pilgrim. 

The kinor was at Arcrenton, in southern 
Normandy, when the news of the murder reached 
him. His grief equalled his previous fury. He 
put on sackcloth and ashes, declared before God 
that he had had no part in the tragedy, and 
remained alone in his private apartment for three 
days, taking no food save milk of almonds, which 
was used in extreme fasts. For five weeks longer 
he remained in solitude, refusing to do any public 
business, and at the end of that time sent an 
influential embassy to Rome, to submit himself 
and his kingdom to the sentence of the pope, and 
to prevent, if it might be, the excommunication 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 95 

and Interdict for which the King of France and 
important leaders of the Church were clamouring. 
For a long time the pope would not even receive 
the king's embassy, but at last he did so, and 
contented himself with excommunicating the 
murderers. Henry still felt uncertain, so crossed 
to England, refused to see any one who bore 
closed letters, and had the ports and coast 
guarded to prevent the delivery of any bull of 
excommunication or interdict. 

From all parts of the Continent, however, and 
from many faithful friends in England, Henry 
heard how his connection with the murder was 
viewed by the people. Every little misfortune 
that befel him was attributed to divine wrath, and 
he soon began to think a further penance was 
necessary. On May 16, he went to Normandy to 
meet the pope's legates, on the 19th there was a 
great council at the Cathedral of Avranches, and 
on Sunday, the 21st, he swore on the Gospels 
that he had not ordered or wished the murder, 
but that as he feared his fury had suggested it 
and as he could not execute the murderers, he was 
ready to make satisfaction. He swore to obey 
the pope, to restore all property of the See of 
Canterbury, to renounce the Constitutions of 
Clarendon, to support 200 soldiers for the 
Templars, and, if ordered, to go on pilgrim- 
age to Rome or Compostella, or on a three years' 
crusade to the Holy Land, or against the Moors 
in Spain. The young king swore to carry out all 
that his father had promised, and reconciliation 
with the Church was considered complete. 

Still the affairs of both king and kingdom 
grew darker and darker, until, in the spring of 



96 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

1 1 74 the case seemed well-nigh desperate. The 
king was at Bonneville-sur-Touques in Normandy, 
fighting against his rebellious son, Richard, when 
the Bishop-elect of Winchester arrived there on 
Saturday, July 6^ (old Midsummer Day), con- 
firming urgent messages already sent from 
England, and adding fresh details of rebellion in 
Yorkshire, in the eastern counties and in the 
Midlands, with invasion of the kingdom by the 
Scots, and threatened invasion from Flanders in 
support of Prince Henry. The importance of the 
crisis was so evident to the Normans surrounding 
the king that one of them is reported to have 
exclaimed : " The next thing the English will 
send over to fetch the king will be the Tower 
of London itself" Prompt in this, as in other 
emergencies, Henry immediately decided upon the 
one dramatic step that would strongly affect the 
imaginations of his people, a pilgrimage to the 
shrine of the miracle-working saint who was 
supposed to have brought the troubles upon the 
country. Starting at once, with his queen, 
members of his family, and several important 
prisoners, he reached Barfleur early on the morn- 
ing of July 8, and at once set sail in spite of 
threatened storm. As the gale rose during the 
voyage, Henry advanced toward the prow of the 
vessel, and with eyes raised to heaven prayed in a 
distinct voice, ** If what I have in my mind be 
for the peace of my clergy and my people, if God 
have determined to restore such peace by my 

* Accounts disagree as to this date. Eyton, usually 
most accurate, gives it as June 24 ; possibly because it is 
recorded as Midsummer Day ; but the later date seems more 
probable. 



^\ 



iA 




ST DUNSTAN'S CHURCH, CANTERBURY, 
First Stage of the Penance of Henry II. 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 97 

arrival, then may He in His mercy bring me safe 
into port ; but if He have resolved still further to 
scourge my kingdom in His wrath, may it never 
be given to me again to set my foot on land." 
The storm blew over, and the party safely landed 
at Southampton on the same day as they left 
Barfleur (another account fixes the landing on the 
morning of July 10). Deferring all business save 
the sending of his prisoners to various safe 
custodies, and presumably leaving the ladies and 
the younger members of his party in Southamp- 
ton or Winchester, Henry started on the morning 
of the 9th and rode steadily toward Canterbury, 
eating only bread and water, and avoiding the 
principal towns. 

On Friday, July 12, after riding through the 
night, he saw in the early morning sunlight the 
towers of the cathedral, and of the other churches 
of Canterbury. At the sight he dismounted, and 
proceeded on foot, through the deep mire of a 
road puddled by recent heavy rain until the 
church of St Dunstan was reached, where he 
threw off his silken robes and his boots, and 
donned (unless he had been wearing them 
throughout the journey) a penitential horse-hair 
shirt, covered by a shirt of woollen, with a great 
cloak thrown over all, against the heavy rain. 
The bells of the city had commenced ringing as 
the royal pilgrim approached the gates, and crowds 
thronged the streets, noting that as the king trod 
the stones of the city, his steps were marked with 
blood. At the porch of the cathedral he knelt 
until he was raised and conducted into the cathe- 
dral. In the transept of the martyrdom he again 
knelt, kissed the stones on which Thomas had 



98 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

fallen, and confessed to one of the dignitaries. In 
the crypt, at the tomb of the martyr he knelt and 
prayed for a long time, sobbing, groaning, and 
weeping bitterly ; after which Gilbert Foliot, the 
old opponent of Thomas announced the king's 
penitence, promising that he would restore all 
rights and properties of the Church, and give forty 
marks yearly for candles to be kept constantly 
burning at the martyr's tomb. The king con- 
firmed the bishop's promises, and received absolu- 
tion, and the kiss of reconciliation from the Prior 
of Canterbury. Then, bowing so that his head 
and shoulders were within the martyr's tomb, clad 
only in hair-shirt and a linen cover, the king 
received five strokes with a rod from each bishop 
and abbot, and three from each of the eighty 
monks. Bruised and exhausted, temporarily 
broken in spirit, as well as in body, the royal 
penitent resumed his cloak and was then left 
all night, fasting, on the bare floor of the 
crypt. Next morning he attended early mass, 
visited all the shrines and altars of the cathedral, 
drank at the martyr's well, took a tiny phial 
of the blood-tinctured water, and returned to 
London. 

Such a striking demonstration of the power of 
the dead saint over the living mighty monarch, 
made a profound impression ; but its effect was 
soon emphasised and enforced even upon the 
king himself. On his arrival in London, his 
health broke down as a result of the mental and 
physical strain ; but within a week he heard that 
on the very day of the completion of his penance 
the King of Scots had been taken prisoner at 
Richmond in Yorkshire, and soon after, that the 



MIRACLES AND CANONISATION 99 

Flemish fleet had been driven back on the same 
day. 

The demonstration was complete. No more 
could the martyr-saint be resisted. The king 
rose in haste from his bed of sickness, thanking 
God and St Thomas. William de Tracy 
determined at once to give to the saint his manor 
of Daccomb, in Devonshire; which is still the 
property of the cathedral. And that another 
actor in the demonstration was deeply affected 
is shown by the fact that William the Lion, King 
of Scots, signalised his release from captivity by 
founding the Abbey of Aberbrothock to the glory 
of God and of St Thomas of Canterbury. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE CULT OF ST THOMAS : PILGRIMS AND 
PILGRIMAGES 

Before the martyrdom of St Thomas, the 
abbey and burial-place of St Augustine, who 
re-established the Church of England, was a 
more iriportant foundation than the Priory of 
Christ Church, even though the latter was 
headed by the primate. This was largely 
because, following the precedent set on the 
death of St Augustine, the great men of the 
Church, including the very archbishops who were 
personally interested in Christ Church, were laid 
after their deaths in what must be recognised as 
the rival sanctuary. And in an age when relic- 
worship and pilgrimages were developing into an 
enormously popular, well-organised craze, the 
possession of relics was the one thing tending 
most strongly to the prosperity of a place of 
worship. So strong was the feeling of proprietor- 
ship in the breasts of the Augustinians that when 
Cuthbert, the archbishop, wished to break 
through the old rule, he had to take the most 
extraordinary precautions. He prepared a 
document leaving his body to his own church, 
and in perfect secrecy secured the support of the 

100 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS loi 

pope and the king. Then, as his end drew 
near (in 759) he gave this last will and testament 
to his monks, ordering them to bury him secretly 
in the cathedral, and not to announce his death 
or toll the bell until he had been buried three 
days. When the death was known, the abbot 
claimed the body, but was checked by the arch- 
bishop's will, approved by pope and king. In 
765, when the next archbishop, Bregwine, died, 
the Abbot of St Augustine's tried to seize his 
body by force of arms, but his party was beaten 
off, and thereafter, the rule with regard to burial 
of the archbishops was that they should rest in 
their own cathedral. From this act of Cuthbert 
the reliquary of Christ Church began to grow, 
and at the time of the murder of St Thomas, it 
had the remains of St Alphege, considered the 
most important by Thomas himself, with those of 
St Anselm, St Dunstan, and Lanfranc, the 
first archbishop under the Normans, as well as a 
long line of Saxon bishops. Still, St Augustine's 
claimed the greater importance, and only the 
tremendous furore caused by the miracles of St 
Thomas enabled the cathedral to take the 
premier position. 

Even the fact that St Thomas so undoubtedly 
belonged to the church in which he was martyred 
did not check the desire of the rival house, for it 
is recorded in their own archives that they gave 
no less a bribe than the abbacy of St Augustine's 
to the keeper of the altar of the martyrdom, for 
bringing over to them the detached piece of the 
skull, for which he was responsible. This sort of 
theft was not at all unusual, for when another 
monk of Christ Church was made Abbot of 



I02 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Peterborough in 1176, he stole and took away 
the flagstones of the transept of the martyrdom 
surrounding the one on which Thomas actually 
fell. From these he made two altars. Other 
reliquaries claimed (or even still claim) that they 
have parts of the martyr's body, which seems to 
indicate that they bought fraudulent relics, 
believing them to be stolen. Thus, the church 
of St Thomas of Canterbury in Verona had a 
tooth and part of the skull ; at Mons and at 
Florence are still parts of the arms; and both 
arms were at one time shown in an English 
nunnery in Lisbon. Vestments worn by the 
saint, which most probably are quite genuine, are 
still preserved in Bourbourg, St Omer, and 
Douay ; and other relics were long kept in 
Carlisle Cathedral, St Albans Abbey, and 
at Derby, Warwick, Glastonbury, Bury St 
Edmunds, Peterborough, Windsor, Chester, 
Alnwick, the Temple Church, London, and 
elsewhere. 

We have seen how the outburst of miraculous 
power had attracted attention, breaking down 
the resistance, first of the de Brocs and their 
rough soldiery, and afterward of the church and 
the king. 

The canonisation in 1 173 gave the seal of the 
approval of the Church to a cult which had 
begun amongst the common people, and the 
king's penance, accompanied by the miraculous 
defeats of his principal enemies on the same day, 
gave an enormous testimonial and advertisement 
to the powers of the new saint. 

Even before this, he had been recognised on 
the Continent in church dedications, and after it 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 103 

the number of churches, chapels, chantries, 
shrines, windows, statues, frescoes, etc., dedicated 
to St Thomas of Canterbury was almost past 
belief. The most important and interesting of 
these was the Abbey of Aberbrothock (Arbroath) 
founded in 1178 by William the Lion, King of 
Scots, on his return from the captivity which 
began on the day when King Henry did his 
penance and made peace with St Thomas. The 
Church of St Thomas at Acre, built in gratitude 
for success given in crusading, is another notable 
instance. The chapel at the southern end of 
London Bridge was dedicated to St Thomas the 
Martyr, and a very handsome chapel of St 
Thomas of Acre was built on the site where he 
had been born (now the hall of the Mercers' 
Company). 

Dean Stanley says that to the popularity of 
this saint we may trace the frequency with which 
old and Important bells were named Thomas, 
Great Tom, etc., and the fact that in England, 
Thomas is still the most largely used Christian 
name, with the single exception of John. The 
same writer tells that the vacant niche In the 
north front of Lambeth Palace contained a statue 
of St Thomas, to which, for centuries, all passing 
boatmen doffed their caps. 

All through the country there are still traces 
of the cult. We have made some attempt at a 
census of the chapels, holy wells, etc., still asso- 
ciated or known to have been connected with the 
name of St Thomas, but have been forced by the 
very magnitude of the mass of material to abandon 
the task. A few of the remains will be mentioned 
later in this chapter : meanwhile, we may mention 



I04 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

the very significant fact that a cursory search 
through the Clergy List gives some thirty-seven 
churches as still bearing their dedication to St 
Thomas of Canterbury, in spite of the tremendous 
rigour with which the cult was suppressed by 
Henry VIII. And of the hundreds of churches 
now dedicated to St Thomas the Apostle, it is 
probable that almost all were originally St Thomas 
the Martyr. 

The growth of the cult was momentarily 
checked, but eventually encouraged and strength- 
ened by a fire which broke out in Canterbury 
Cathedral in September 1174, and destroyed the 
choir. The monks and citizens alike were stag- 
gered by the disaster, but soon they prepared 
to build a new choir on a grander scale, and the 
money came largely from the offerings of pilgrims. 
The architect was William of Sens, who had 
been at work on the cathedral of his own city 
when Thomas lived there in exile. Before he 
completed the work he was disabled by an accident, 
and another William, an Englishman, finished 
the restoration, designing the part surrounding 
the shrine. Everything that lavish expenditure 
of money, time, and skill could do to render the 
church more magnificent, more imposing, more 
worthy of the priceless presence it was to en- 
shrine, was ungrudgingly done. Noble stone- 
work, beautiful glass, sumptuous painting and 
gilding, and priceless work of the goldsmith and 
jeweller were considered none too good, and at 
length a glorious shrine, surrounded by magnifi- 
cent pillars, minor reliquaries and altars, and 
overlooked by a watching-chamber, where relays 
of devout men were waking day and night to guard 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 105 

against fire or sacrilege, stood ready for the 
remains which had lain so long in the crypt 
below. 

The work was finished in 1220, when Langton, 
who was notable amongst churchmen for dividing 
the Bible into chapters, and amongst laymen as 
a leader in securing the Magna Carta from King 
John, was archbishop. Henry HI., still a boy, 
was at last firmly established on the throne. It 
was fifty years from the murder, and was a leap- 
year (which was taken as an omen of abundant 
day of blessing). July 7, the day chosen for the 
translation of the relics, fell on a Tuesday, the 
important day all through the life of Thomas. 
Two years' notice of the great event had been 
given in all parts of Britain and of the Continent, 
by proclamation of the archbishop. At abbeys, 
monasteries, etc., along the roads, and especially 
at the many abbeys and manors of the archbishop 
himself, almost unlimited food and necessaries 
had been provided for the immense multitude 
that was expected. All the way from London 
to Canterbury, there was store of food for man 
and horse, free to all who cared to ask for it ; 
and at many more distant points, and points on 
other roads, similar provision was made. At 
every gate of Canterbury, at four licensed cellars, 
and at four other places in the city, wine was 
supplied, without charge, to all who liked to ask 
for it, for days before the great ceremony, and 
every citizen who could squeeze a guest into 
a corner anywhere, had a guest or more billeted 
upon him. 

In the evening of July 6, the archbishop, with 
the monks and their prior, went to the crypt, 



io6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

where they sang psalms and hymns, and joined 
in prayer until midnight. As the solemn hour 
struck, some of the brethren removed the stones 
that covered the tomb, and saw the remains which 
had been deposited, with tears and trembling, 
fifty years before. Four specially saintly priests 
took out the remains, the head was kissed by all 
present, then the head and the other remains 
were separately deposited in strong chests and 
carried to a guarded vault. On the 7th, a great 
and a grand company entered the cathedral, led 
by the boy king, and proceeded to the crypt. 
The pope's legate, the primate of France, the 
Lord High Justiciar of England, and four of the 
greatest nobles of the land shared with Langton 
the honour of carrying the sainted relics to their 
resting-place in the new and glorious shrine ; and 
everything that could contribute to an imposing 
ceremony was present at the high mass by which 
the translation was celebrated, and which estab- 
lished the 7th of July as one of the great church 
festivals, the Feast of the Translation of St 
Thomas the Martyr. 

Rich and poor, noble and lowly, from "every 
shire's end of England," and from many a foreign 
city, pressed in their thousands to the great 
event ; and it is said that not less than 100,000 
persons journeyed to Canterbury on the occasion. 
So great was the expense of their entertainment 
that the debt was not cleared until the time of 
Edmund of Abingdon, archbishop from 1234 to 
1240. 

Before this time, although the pilgrims had 
been very numerous, there had been no special 
time of pilgrimage, save that those who could 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 107 

defy the rigours of winter and the exceeding bad- 
ness of the roads, tried to reach Canterbury about 
the anniversary of the martyrdom. Now, although 
there was still a great and a growing stream of 
pilgrims all through the spring, summer, and 
autumn months, the feast of the translation 
became the great occasion of the whole year ; and 
so numerous did the pilgrims become that fairs 
were arranged for their especial benefit at places 
along the route, and at suitable times, to catch 
them going to or coming from the shrine. Some 
of these fairs still remain, and at least one of 
them maintains a great vogue in spite of the 
fact that there is practically no population around 
its site, and buyers and sellers alike have to 
travel some miles to take part. 

The jubilees and centenaries saw unusually 
great pilgrimages, until 1520. — Before the centen- 
ary of 1570 the reforming zeal of the Eighth 
Henry had dealt with the whole cult of St 
Thomas, as will be shown In Chapter XIV. ; and 
pilgrims came no more. 

Of the more celebrated pilgrims It is almost 
unnecessary to say anything. Kings and queens, 
nobles of every rank, and churchmen of high 
degree, came from many continental countries as 
well as from all parts of our own land. Many 
gave priceless gems or great store of gold and 
silver to the shrine, following the example of 
Louis VH. of France, who gave a great jewel 
known as ''The Regale of France," and said to 
have been a ruby (other accounts, carbuncle, and 
diamond) as large as a hen's egg. 

To give a general idea of the doings of the 
mediaeval pilgrims and of other wayfaring people 



io8 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

of the time, we may take a few imaginary scenes 
in the pilgrimage of a couple of husbandmen, from 
their home in Hampshire. Each incident re- 
lated will be from a thoroughly authenticated 
record of the time, the power of fiction doing no 
more than change its scene to the road in which 
we are now interested and to connect it with our 
own particular travellers. 

William, or Will of Wonston, is a tenant 
farmer, plodding, industrious, and thrifty, whose 
wife has been a true helpmeet in the work of the 
farm and in the rearing of a sturdy family. His 
curly brown locks are tinging with grey beside the 
temples and over the ears, his shoulders have 
the stoop, and his feet have the heavy awkward 
tread that comes from a lifetime's tramping over 
farm land in heavy boots. But his eye is keen, 
his arm is quick and strong, his fingers are 
almost as handy as those of a seaman, and his 
clumsy walk can be steadily kept up for a whole 
long summer's day. His son, Alfred, is known 
as Alf of Micheldever, from the place of his 
present dwelling, just as his father's name is that 
of the village whence he came. The two places 
are only three miles apart, and th(! extent of 
William's emigration when he took the bold step 
of leaving his parental roof, is typical of the 
cautious movements of the country folk of his 
day. William has travelled somewhat, for he 
goes to Winchester at least once or twice every 
year, and he has been in Romsey, more than 
twenty miles away. But he has never travelled 
without a good errand, and for general informa- 
tion, finds it easier and cheaper to take it from 
chapman and drovers and others who pass his 



CHURCH VERSUS CROWN 31 

of London, Chichester, Lincoln, and Exeter, 
the Abbots of St Augustine's (Canterbury), of 
Hulme, and of Battle, the Earls of Leicester 
and Salisbury, Henry de Essex, constable, 
William, the king's brother, and many other 
nobles. On the storm that followed the king's 
words, broke the calm, persuasive voice of the 
chancellor, warning the Bishop of Chichester 
to guard his tongue more carefully, for that he 
had violated his oath of allegiance. When the 
Abbot of Battle rose to defend his cause, the 
king refused to hear him, saying, "It is not 
for your prudence, henceforth, to make good 
your claim ; it is my part, and my own royal 
prerogative to defend it. The decision of the 
business is my concern." Thereupon the court 
was adjourned for a space, and on its re- 
assembling, Thomas the Chancellor pronounced 
a long and eloquently-argued judgment against 
the Bishop of Chichester. He stated that the 
Abbot of Battle had but striven to maintain 
privileges granted to his abbey by William 
the Conqueror, amongst them, the exemption 
from episcopal jurisdiction. 

It was the pleasure of the king to confirm all 
the privileges, " not " (as he turned to the bishop) 
''for the purpose of setting you at naught, but 
with a view to defending by sound reason those 
royal rights which you have been pleased. In our 
hearing, to call frivolous." 

Later, in his capacity as archbishop, Thomas 
was to oppose and defy the king In matters very 
similar to those in which he now supported him, 
and this Instance, typical of many, is given in 
some detail simply to show the contrast between 



1^2 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 



3" 



the action of the chancellor, and the action of the 
same man when he became archbishop. It has 
been said, in explanation of his apparent incon- 
sistency, that the circumstances were not pre- 
cisely parallel, and that the later attitude was due 
to increased knowledge of the facts and a con- 
scientious change of opinion. This may be true 
to a large extent, but it does not explain the 
objections raised by Thomas himself when the 
king wished him to become archbishop, and his 
argument that if he took that post he would be 
obliged to oppose certain projects of ,the king 
which, as chancellor, he could support. 

When Theobald pressed the claims of Thomas 
for the chancellorship, although he was largely 
swayed by a wish to serve the king and country, 
he doubtless also thought that he was placing in 
a most influential position, one who would be a 
friend to the Church. And when the king urged 
and almost forced the acceptance of the arch- 
bishopric, we know that he believed he was thus 
securing the help of the Church in transferring 
judicial powers from itself to the Crown. Both 
Henry and Theobald misjudged their man, and 
failed to appreciate his unswerving loyalty to the 
master of the moment. With many of the 
personal qualities that would have made a 
splendid knight-errant, Thomas had that kind of 
fidelity which was the finest quality in the good 
mercenary soldier. He fought not for any 
abstract principle, and worked upon no personal 
theory of what was right, but with whole-souled 
earnestness strove even to the death, for the 
cause to which he was pledged. As Theobald's 
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THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 109 

very door than to go afield for it. Alfred has 
seen even less of the world than has his father, 
but he is a tall, straight, well-grown fellow of 
twenty-two, no fool, though his horizon has been 
limited. The pilgrimage on which they are 
bound has long been planned, and has been 
discussed not only with the relatives for several 
miles around, but also with the good parish 
priest, who says that such a journey, prayerfully 
undertaken, is good for both body and soul. 
William and his wife have many a time, in trouble 
and distress, called upon the blessed St Thomas, 
and they have ever found the trouble quickly 
abated, the distress relieved ere long. Jankyn, 
the cobbler, who thinks too much and prays too 
little, reminds them that sometimes when they 
have called upon St Thomas their prayers have 
not been answered as they wished— but they say, 
*' Who knows that we were not justly punished 
for our want of faith?" William argues that 
if the saint has helped them so much when they 
only vowed gifts of wax tapers or other poor 
offerings, there is a necessity to show real thanks 
by pilgrimage and personal worship ; and, he 
adds, '''will not the blessed Saint the more 
cheerfully aid us after that we have knelt at his 
very shrine, and kissed the spot where barbarous 
men slew him— in God's great wisdom— for our 
good ? " This year, the family is well grown, so 
that the work of the farm can spare the father 
and eldest son for a few weeks ; the hay has been 
harvested, the other crops are well forward, St 
Swithun's day has been beautifully fine, and so, 
the good man asks, why not see something of 
men and places and things, open the mind with 



no CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

travel, and shake off some of the stiffness that 
comes of over-constant work. 

Neither father nor son cares much for horse- 
back riding : the horses are needed on the farm ; 
and along most of the way to Canterbury two 
sturdy legs can get over more ground in a day 
than four, so our pilgrims decide to start 
afoot. 

Each has a wallet to contain the very few 
necessaries of the time, which principally consist 
of three pairs of hosen for each, with needles and 
wool for darning. One comb suffices well for 
two heads and beards, they sleep in their clothing ; 
and if they should need to wash a shirt they can 
always find a brook or pool, and wait until the 
garment dries in the sunshine, on a bush. The 
wallet has plenty of room for food for a couple of 
days ; and our pilgrims will buy a supply of 
bread and cheese, and cold cooked meat ; with 
spring onions for green food, about once in two 
days or so. They also carry a small box of 
pilgrim-salve, a mixture of good hogs' lard and 
isinglass, for chafed feet ; and another box 
of a salve for stings, bites, or festering wounds, 
which is made of goose-grease, resin, and tar. 
Of this sovereign remedy the good mother says 
that the sfoose-^rease softens and soothes, the 
resin draws out the venom, the tar heals. 
Around each neck there are two cords or 
lanyards, one carrying a sheath-knife with a 
blade of six or seven inches, the other supporting 
a pilgrim's bottle, of earthenware, with four 
earthenware loops, two on each side, so that the 
cord passes through these loops and under the 
bottom of the bottle. These flasks can be filled 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS iii 

with water or ale as opportunity offers, for our 
travellers mean to eat and drink by the way- 
side rather than in unknown inns and ale- 
stakes. 

Their clothing is well-worn homespun, the 
wool so curly and kinky, so well twisted and 
close woven that it will turn the rain of most all 
day showers, except, perhaps just where it beats 
on the shoulders ; while for extra bad weather 
and for sleeping (indoors or out) each man carries 
a great cape, of no particular shape, but reaching 
to the knees, and a good nine feet in circum- 
ference. 

Our pilgrims do not carry the usual staves, 
for they are both good quarter-staff men and 
prefer their own quarter-staves, short compared 
with the pilgrim's general sort, and unshod with 
iron. With their quarter-staves they are a match 
for any men except archers. Even a swordsman, 
unless unusually clever with his weapon, cannot 
beat the stout man with the ashen staff, who 
really knows its play. The ordinary pilgrim- 
staves are six or seven feet long, shod with a 
heavy iron ferrule, and generally with a sharp 
iron prod at the end. They are ugly weapons of 
offence, when swung around the head ; they are 
useful, spearwise, for keeping off vicious dogs, 
and their length makes them handy as jumping 
poles when crossing certain soft places, but they 
are poor weapons if a man once closes with 
the bearer, and are very little good for defence. 

The good parish priest of the quaint little 
octagonal church of Micheldever has announced 
to his flock, that after early mass on Monday he will 
pronounce the blessing on scrips and staves for 



112 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

the pilgrims who are going on a long journey to 
the shrine of the blessed martyr, and his congre- 
gation on that morning is unusually large, and 
more than ordinarily earnest and attentive. It is 
the 1 8th of J uly, and the day of their local saint, the 
weather-controlling Swithun, was the 15th. The 
reverend father goes through the beautiful simple 
form of the old Sarum jMissal ; raising his hand 
in blessing, as he says : — 

"The Lord be with you," 

and the people respond, — 

"And with thy spirit." 

He then says, — 

" Let us pray." 

'* O Lord Jesu Christ, who of Thy unspeak- 
able mercy, at the bidding of the Father, and by 
the co-operation of the Holy Spirit, wast willing 
to come down from heaven, and to seek the sheep 
that was lost by the deceit of the Evil One, and 
to carry him back on Thine own shoulders to the 
flock of the Heavenly Land ; and didst command 
the sons of Mother Church by prayer to ask, by 
holy living to seek, and by knocking to persevere ; 
that so they may the more speedily find the 
reward of saving life ; we humbly beseech Thee 
that Thou wouldest be pleased to bless ►J^ this 
scrip and ►J^ staff {*^ at these places he makes the 
sign of the cross over the scrip and the staff 
lying upon the altar), that whosoever for love of 
Thy Name, shall seek to bear the same by his 
side, to hang it at his neck, or to carry it in his 
hands, and so on his pilgrimage to seek the aid of 
the saints, with the accompaniment of humble 




THE MARTYRDOM OF ST THOMAS. 

.From a Copy, presericd in Canterbury Cathedral, of the ahnost obliterated Painting 
at the head of the Tomb of Henry IV. 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 113 

prayer, being protected by the guardianship of 
Thy right hand, may be found worthy to attain 
unto the joy of the everlasting vision ; through 
Thee, O Saviour of the World, who, with the 
Father and the Holy Spirit, liveth and reigneth, 
ever one God, world without end. Amen." 

At this, all the kneeling worshippers said, 
''Amen," and devoutly crossed themselves, and 
the priest, taking each man's scrip and staff 
separately, and sprinkling each with holy water, 
hung the one around the neck and placed the 
other in the right hand of its owner, saying : — 

"Take this scrip to be worn as the badge and 
habit of thy pilgrimage : 

" And this staff to be thy strength and stay in 
the toil and travail of thy pilgrimage, that thou 
mayest be able to overcome all the hosts of the 
Evil One, and to reach in safety the shrine of the 
Blessed Saint Thomas of Canterbury, and the 
shrines of other saints whither thou desirest to 
go ; and having dutifully completed thy course, 
mayest come again to thine own people with 
thanksgiving." 

As there were only two pilgrims, the address 
was made separately to each ; had there been 
many, the wording would have been plural, and 
addressed to the whole company. After a final 
benediction the congregation dispersed ; each one 
crossing himself with holy water as he passed 
through the porch. In the churchyard there was 
much thronging to say farewell, almost all the 
neighbours kissed the pilgrims, and hung about 
them as if loth to let them adventure on so 
dangerous a journey. William's wife and children 
went some miles along the way, giving pariing 

H 



114 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

injunctions about eating and drinking enough and 
sleeping warmly, while the father and elder brother 
repeated and re-repeated their instructions about 
the work of the farm. 

The whole journey of the first day, to Win- 
chester, was only some eight miles, along a piece 
of the straight well-made Roman road from Win- 
chester to Silchester, now a part of the high road 
to Basingstoke, but there was no hurry ; the 
pilgrims sat long in the heat of the day to discuss 
some especially delicate mutton pasty and some 
home-made pomage or cider with which their 
flasks had been filled. After eating, they lay long 
in the grass looking up into the branches of a 
shady tree, and watching the myriad patches of 
sky that danced between the outer leaves. Their 
words were very few — until they came to Head- 
bourne Worthy Church, where William took his 
son to the west end to see the great rood which 
then hung on the outer wall, and for the pro- 
tection of which the church was afterward 
lengthened westwardly. There they knelt to ask 
a blessing on their journey at the first shrine they 
had met. Along the remaining mile and a half 
they stepped more briskly, past the beautiful 
abbey of Hyde, commenting upon the long roof 
and powerful squat tower of the cathedral, and 
talking of the September fair which William had 
more than once attended, on St Giles' Hill, east 
of the city — perhaps the greatest fair in all 
England. They did not linger long to admire the 
city gates, or the market cross, or the cathedral, 
but pressed on to the ancient hospital of St Cross, 
where then, as now, a dole of bread and ale was 
offered to every wayfarer. They took it with 




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THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 115 

relish, for St Cross has always had a good bakery 
and brewhouse ; then they went within, to talk 
for an hour with one of the brethren of the Noble 
Poverty whom William had known in younger 
days. Many hostelries and rest-houses were 
available, and they went to see the great Guesten- 
hall in the cathedral precincts where food and 
lodging were provided for pilgrims to the shrine 
of St Swithun, before going to spend the night 
with a relative. Next morning they were early 
afoot, viewing with wonder the palace of 
Wolvesey, the great school founded by William of 
Wykeham, the castle, the gates of the city, and 
God-begot House, a hospice for strangers and 
pilgrims which still remains intact near the 
market cross. They saw with surprise the whole 
of the Wykehamite boys run at great speed, with 
bare heads and flying gowns up to the top of St 
Catherine's Hill (one of the regulations of the 
founder), and come down laughing and breathless, 
to strip and plunge into the crystal-clear waters of 
the Itchen. 

After matins in the cathedral, all pilgrims 
who wished to see the shrine of St Swithun were 
admitted by a small door, specially cut for this 
purpose (now walled up) In the west wall of the 
north transept, and they were marshalled through 
a part of the great fane by some of the brethren, 
who explained the relics, but only allowed them 
to touch or to kiss the caskets In which they 
were enshrined. They passed around behind the 
choir and to the top of the steps leading into the 
south transept, but they were not allowed to go 
into the south transept, nave, or choir, because 
the monks knew that many pilgrims were diseased 



ii6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

and verminous, and kept their own part of the 
church free from contagion. The beautiful iron 
gates which blocked them at this point are pre- 
served in the north-west corner of the nave. The 
bones of many kings and queens, many sainted men 
and women were (and still are) in the tombs and 
mortuary chests, and although the brother who 
showed the relics gabbled his information in a way 
that could scarce be understood, some of the 
more learned pilgrims explained to the others. 
After being allowed to gaze upon the high altar 
and the great rood, and to make their offerings, 
the pilgrims were dismissed through the door by 
which they entered, and William and his son 
took their way toward their homeward road, to 
where, just without the city, stood Hyde Abbey. 
Here a ring at the porter's bell secured their 
admission, and a brother showed them the head 
of the martyred St Valentine, given to the monks 
in 104 1 by the devout dowager Queen Emma, 
the remains of their own one-time abbot and now 
canonised saint, Grimbald, and the remains of 
St Josse or Judoc, brought to this country by good 
Christians fleeing to Winchester from the perse- 
cutions of the Danes. The marvellous silver 
shrine excited their wonder, as did the great silver 
rood given by King Cnut. They trod with 
hushed footsteps near the tomb of the great 
Saxon king and lawgiver, Alfred, and when their 
chance remarks showed the brother that they 
claimed Saxon blood, he told them how their 
abbot at the time of the Norman Conquest had 
been Elfwy, brother of Earl Godwin, and that 
when Harold went to meet the Norman, Elfwy, 
with twelve brawny monks and a score of stout 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 117 

Hampshire men-at-arms had followed him, and 
almost every man had fallen on the fatal field of 
Senlac. After exhausting all these wonders, our 
pilgrims went to hear a mass in the church of 
St Bartholomew, opposite the abbey gate, for 
here, as in the Minster, the common pilgrims 
were not allowed to join in the monks' service. 

The monks' walk, through the beautiful rich 
meadows of Hyde, past the monks' bailiff's house, 
which still remains as Abbot's Barton farm, with 
a tiny oratory as part of its building, led them 
again to Headbourne Worthy, and the highway. 
The church, already mentioned, is said to have 
been founded by St Wilfred, and is in one of 
several farm-villages, or Worthies, granted to the 
Priory of St Swithun by Egbert, in 825. 

Through Kingsworthy, Abbotsworthy, and 
Martyrsworthy, through Itchen Abbas and Itchen 
Stoke, all beautifully situated in the vale of 
Itchen, and each with its beautiful little church, 
they came to New Alresford, another of the little 
towns given (with its neighbour. Old Alresford), 
to the Priory of St Swithun by one of the Saxon 
kings. The new town had been rebuilt by Bishop 
Lucy in the days of King John, and had been 
rechristened New Market ; but the old people 
liked the old name, and it is Alresford to this 
day. Our pilgrims looked at the great pool made 
by Bishop Lucy when he rendered the Itchen 
navigable from here to Winchester, and provided 
the pool to keep the water deep in times of 
drought ; and they marvelled at the great number 
of wild water-fowl to be seen on the mere. All 
these villages were busy and prosperous. Alres- 
ford itself was a great cloth-weaving town, and 



ii8 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

had good tanneries, which brought hides from all 
parts of the county and shipped the leather by 
the bishop's navigation to the great St Giles' 
fair. The churches were all of Saxon origin, 
but almost every one had been restored or en- 
larged in early Norman days. All were open, 
and all had some object of interest : wall paintings 
that told their stories to even those who could 
not read ; crucifixes and figures of saints, and in 
many cases shrines and altars where the candles 
were ever burning. Through Bishop's Sutton 
the road was the same as the present highway 
to Alton and London ; but two miles beyond, the 
pilgrims took a branch to the right. At Bishop's 
Sutton there was a manor-house of the Bishop 
of Winchester, where many pilgrims, rich and 
poor, found food and shelter ; but our friends 
William and Alfred were yet young in their 
pilgrimage, and were chary of asking for or 
accepting any form of charity. So they pushed 
on to Ropley, with a fine large old church, that 
stood up brilHantly on its hill-top as the western 
sun fell full upon it, and which gave them a most 
impressive view, silhouetted blackly against a 
brilliant evening sky, as they looked back toward 
it on leaving. About a mile beyond this village 
came a steep rise, between deep chalky banks 
clad with shrubs and flowers, with overhanging 
trees that deepened the evening shade until it 
seemed almost like night ; but on emerging at the 
top into a blaze of sunset glory, they turned into 
a field on the left, and saw below them, stretching 
mile after mile toward the sinking sun, the 
glorious, well-tended, fertile Itchen valley. As 
they drank in the beauty of the prospect, a wider 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 119 

landscape than the young man had ever seen 
before, they gave thanks to God for having made 
the world so fair, and to St Swithun for keeping 
the weather so fine. The beautiful calm of his 
day had been their final Inducement to undertake 
the pilgrimage. 

As the sun sank below the plain they remem- 
bered that nights were chill, and hurried on to 
reach a wayside house where a travelling tinker 
had told them they could find rest. The tinker 
had laughed at the idea of abiding in any house on 
a warm night in July, and had told them the rule 
of the summer road, which was to sleep during 
the heat of the day, work (if you were a working 
man) morning and eve, and travel at night when 
it was cool enough to make walking a pleasure. 
But William had a fancy for a roof overhead. 

When they were shown to their bed, Alfred 
wondered why the straw was shaken loose, and 
eight or nine inches deep, in a frame of boards, 
instead of being in a cloth case as they had it 
at home. His father explained that with beds 
in ticks or cases it was very difficult to keep them 
free from vermin when used by all sorts of 
travellers, whereas, when the straw was loose 
the vermin dropped through to the fioor, and 
next day the straw could be well shaken out and 
the floor swept. When he examined the straw, 
however, he expressed fear that they would have a 
troubled night, unless the bedding had been very 
well shaken and swept beneath, for this was oaten 
straw. Many travellers thought that oat and 
barley straws bred fieas, but he believed the real 
trouble was that they had rough stalks, up which 
the Insects could crawl to the sleeper, while wheat 



I20 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

straw, the only sort that should be used for beds, 
was too smooth for insects to cling to. To our 
travellers' sorrow these fears proved only too well 
founded, and being used to clean sleeping at 
home, they passed a restless night. When light 
came first peeping through the little windows, 
William suggested to his son that they should 
arise. Let us to the nearest water and jthere 
*' undress and wash our legfs and rub them well 
for the love of the fleas, for there is a peck of 
them in the dust under this trashy oaten straw. 
Hi! they bite me so, and do me great harm, I 
have scratched my shoulders until the blood 
flows." ^ 

A wash and a rub down, after well shaking 
and searchinor their clothinor made them much 

o o' 

more comfortable, and they broke their fast with 
thankfulness beside a little stream, rejoicing in 
the glorious sunshine, the song of birds, and the 
ripening glow upon the grain. They talked over 
what the tinker had said of travelling; at niorht, 
and decided that they would sleep no more in 
small wayside hostelries unless they should have 
much rain, and thanks to good St Swithun, they 
had little fear of that. 

The road was almost deserted, for they were 
in a part only traversed by pilgrims from 
Winchester to Alton ; they had not yet come to 
the road from Portsmouth or the way from the 
West and Western Midlands. Moreover, the 
great annual stream of pilgrims had passed here 
a month agone for the festival of the Translation, 
and though that was now some fortnight past, the 

^ This, like the rest of the incidents in this chapter, is based on actual 
records of the time. 




CHURCHES ON THE WIXCHESTER IMLGRIMS WAY. 



Headhourn)' U'ortlijj. 
Jtchen Ahhcis. 
Ropleij. 



Kings Jl'urt.hi/. 

Bishop's Sutton, 

East Tisted {and VicoriKjv). 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 121 

return stream had not yet met them. As they 
lay, after their morning meal, however, they were 
hailed by a travelling doctor, accompanied by 
a stout youth, who bore a great pack, and was 
hung around with such a series of musical instru- 
ments that he looked like the carrier for a whole 
band of music. These greeted our travellers, 
whom they had seen at the inn, and the doctor, 
with many Latin-like oaths and phrases began to 
abuse the uncleanliness of the bedding. He and 
his youth had suffered little, for they were 
seasoned travellers, and anointed themselves with 
repellent unguents, some of which he pressed 
upon our two pilgrims, ''not for vile coin, but 
for love of pilgrimage and fellowship, and the 
blessed Saint." With cautions against trusting 
any wayfarer ringing in their ears, they refused 
the offer, without offence, and William ere long 
showed the doctor their own two remedies ; 
whereat he pronounced the pilgrim-salve a harm- 
less lewd unguent, void of any active property : 
while the other ointment he declared to be crude 
but in some sense effective, and bearable on 
strong skins. 

Learning that they m€ant to lie there awhile 
longer, the doctor unfastened some part of his 
pack, and taking new bread, brought from his 
last resting-place, he crumbled it, mixed it with 
certain medicaments, and proceeded to make a 
great stock of pills. These were rolled by the 
youth, and the doctor made them up in tiny 
*' screws " of paper, which he neatly laid, head- 
and-point in a tray. As he worked, he talked, 
for he said he ever needed company, and the 
roads were more deserted than he ever 



122 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

remembered. Moreover, the forest tract around 
Alton was much infested with robbers, in spite 
of the fact that the wardens of St Giles' fair in 
Winchester kept five mounted sergeants-at-arms 
there all the year round for the protection of 
merchants and chapmen from London, and he 
thought the simple pilgrims would be the better 
of the protection of a man of learning like 
himself 

Anon they resumed their way, through 
charming lanes and beautiful woodlands, stopping 
for a few moments at certain wayside cottages 
for the doctor to prescribe for an ailing infant or 
to leave a " rheumatic ointment " for an old 
grandmother. Along the south side of Rother- 
field park they went, and as they turned into the 
Portsmouth road, three or four travellers were 
visible — first signs of a busy throng. As they 
reached East Tisted, the doctor's companion laid 
down his pack in the midst of the village, and 
went to a cottage to borrow a bench for his 
master to stand upon. Meanwhile, the learned 
man spread a gorgeous carpet of blue with a red 
border, and the centre space worked with a florid 
orange sun, a yellow moon, white stars, and many 
hieroglyphics. On this he ranged his boxes and 
trays, then, donning a long rusty cloak (once 
black) and a tall conical hat, and piecing together 
a jointed wand, he mounted the bench. The 
youth had retired for a few moments behind a 
hedge, and reappeared as a gorgeous spectacle. 
He wore a crimson coat with great golden 
buttons ; on his head was a spangled cap, set 
with three bells, between his knees were strapped 
a pair of cymbals ; at his back, sticking out like 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 123 

a wing between his shoulders, was a great tabor, 
like an enlarged tambourine, which he beat with 
a drumstick attached to his left elbow ; across 
his chest was a set of Pan-pipes, such as are now 
used by the orchestra of Punch and Judy, and in 
his left hand he bore a triangle, which he 
twanged with a key held in the right. Blowing 
a merry tune on the pipes, and working a 
booming, clanging, jingling, jangling accompani- 
ment on the other instruments, the gorgeous 
youth walked up and down before his master 
until almost the whole population of the village 
had gathered ; and many wayfarers had stopped 
on the edge of the crowd. 

The doctor began with a deprecation of his 
vulgar musician, who was but as the poor bell of 
a church to call men to a great feast of know- 
ledge. Then he denied any pretence to be a 
mere travelling quack or herbalist : he made no 
pretence to cure all diseases with one nostrum, 
but had different remedies for different complaints. 
Dealing first with the packets of herbs, he said, 
*' Draw near, give ear, take off your caps and 
hoods, and look at the herbs I show you. My 
Lady of Mercy, whose servant I am, sends me 
to your land, and because she loves the poor as 
well as the rich, she bids me sell to the poor for a 
penny — the rich lord to pay five pounds for the 
same priceless remedies. You will not eat these 
herbs, for they are so strong and bitter that if the 
greatest horse or ox in this land should have 
upon his tongue a piece of the size of a pea, he 
should straightway die a horrible death. You 
will steep them for three days in a quart of good 
white wine ; if you have no white, take red, if you 



124 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

have no red, take cider or vinegar ; if you have 
none of these, take good honest water ; for many 
a man hath a well at his door who hath not casks 
in his cellar. After three days, drink a thirteenth 
part on each of thirteen mornings, fasting, and 
you will be cured of all your ills." 

Then he similarly recommended his sovereign 
balm for wounds, an ointment for rheumatism, 
elixirs for children teething, and finished with an 
exordium on the pills : — 

*' I do not say my pills will cure all ills, but 
who can be cured will be cured ; what pills can do, 
my pills will do. They will not raise the dead, 
but they will save you from dying ; and my pills 
only cure one thing — they cure a bad stummick. 
If you have that tired, sleepy feeling at bedtime ; 
that wish to lie longer when you ought to arise ; 
that drowsiness in the heat of the day ; that 
weariness after working ; put it down to a bad 
stummick, and my pills will cure a bad 
stummick. 

" If your babies are fretful and cross ; if your 
young men refuse to obey you ; if your maidens 
peek and pine ; or if your husbands grumble that 
the meal be not served ; put it down to a bad 
stummick, and my pills will cure a bad 
stummick. 

'* If you have aches or pains in the arms or 
legs ; aches or pains in the back or belly ; aches 
or pains in the sides or shoulders ; aches or pains 
in the head or throat ; put it down to a bad 
stummick, and my pills will cure a bad 
stummick." 

There was much more to the same effect, 
which we need not repeat, and our pilgrims did 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 125 

not stay to hear it all, though they thought the 
doctor a mighty fine man. They went into the 
church to hear eleven o'clock mass, after which 
they found the doctor ready for the journey, 
sitting in the centre of some dozen or fourteen 
wayfarers, to whom he was showing the thin 
rapier cunningly hidden in one section of his 
wand, and explaining how he would deal with 
the robbers, should any appear while they 
were passing through the dreaded Alice Holt 
Wood. 

A mile beyond East Tisted they reached 
Pilgrim House, where they halted for refresh- 
ment, and three miles more brought them to 
Chawton, with a beautiful old church which the 
devout pilgrims much admired, while the other 
wayfarers clustered around the doctor to hear his 
nomony again. This time he had arranged for 
several of them to lead the buying, and to have 
their money returned when they left the village, 
and by this means the sales at Chawton were 
greatly encouraged. William and Alfred, mean- 
while, were especially interested in the fine rood 
screen, which still remains there, with its beauti- 
fully carved crucifixion. 

At Alton, a thriving brewing town, the direct 
road from Alresford joined that which our 
pilgrims had taken, and many travellers were 
about. The doctor made a great harvest in the 
evening, and tried to induce some of his com- 
panions to wait over another day, but as they 
would not, he arranged to journey with William 
and Alfred, as being stout, honest, simple- 
minded folk ; and the next morning, while they 
went to early mass in the large handsome church, 



126 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

he bought new drugs from an apothecary in 
the town, and made up a new stock of his 
remedies. 

Here was no difficulty in finding good, clean 
accommodation ; and the travellers paid no more 
than they had done on the previous night. A 
halfpenny each was charged for their beds. If 
they had been riding, they would have paid a 
penny each for the bedding and food of their 
horses, and then no charge would have been made 
for themselves. 

Before leaving Alton they looked at a large 
pond from which ran the river Wcy, along whose 
valley they were to travel for some twenty 
miles. At Holybourne the church attracted 
William and Alf, while the village green formed 
a sale-ground for the doctor, and this arrange- 
ment, which suited both parties, was kept up so 
long as they went together. 

At Froyle, as their flasks were empty, they 
halted at an ale-stake, of which there was one at 
every cross-roads, and also about every half-mile 
along the highway. In many cases they were 
mere huts, with a brewing-shed at the back. 
Some of them were kept by feeble old women, who 
made but a poor pittance by selling ale alone ; 
others were prosperous places, where cakes, 
bread, cheese, cold cooked meat, smoked fish, 
and other necessaries could be bought, and some 
of these did a business rivalling that of the inns, 
though they had no sleeping accommodation for 
man or horse. They took their name from the 
stake or staff projecting well into the road from 
the front of each, and terminating in a wisp of 
brushwood, bound like a birch broom. This was 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 127 

known as the bush, and gave rise to the proverb 
that ''good wine needs no bush." 

Many a good position for an ale-stake was 
also a good stand for a begging hermit, and since 
reaching the Portsmouth road at Tisted, they 
had seen two or three hermitages, squalid huts 
or tiny decent cottages, but each with the holy 
man on his little bench at the door, cowled, 
bearing book or crucifix or palmer's staff, and 
with a shell for the offerings of the pious. As 
the road became busier, all these signs of wayside 
life became more numerous. 

The four or five miles beyond Froyle was the 
dangerous part of the road, and Alf remarked to 
his father that although the doctor carried his 
rapier drawn, he fell back some distance behind 
the others whenever a thick clump of trees grew 
close to the wayside. Across the Wey they 
could see the dangerous Alice Holt, stretching for 
miles, and known to shelter many outlaws ; but 
they saw nothing worse than two or three honest 
wayfarers, and by the time they passed Bentley 
they had forgotten their fears, the doctor was 
merrily chatting and occasionally bursting into 
song. He was indeed a good companion. A 
mile or more beyond Bentley they were climbing 
a short hill, shaded by well-grown trees, when 
they suddenly heard cries for help, mingled with 
quick exclamations, curses, and the sound of 
blows. They rushed forward, and saw a party 
of merchants beset by three well-armed horsemen. 
Some of the merchants' servants were trying to 
lead away their laden pack-horses, while their 
masters and a stout serving-man armed with a 
pike, attempted to check the robbers. At the 



128 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

sight, the doctor's varlet gave a great shout, 
dropped his pack, and whirHng his iron-shod 
pilgrim's staff around his head, rushed into the 
fray ; Alfred followed with his quarter-staff, and 
William brought up the rear as quickly as his 
stiffened limbs allowed. For a moment the 
horsemen were daunted, but seeing that they 
had only to deal with footmen, they renewed their 
attack. The merchants' man received a sword- 
cut on the head, the doctor's youth was ridden 
down and trampled, but not before he had stunned 
one of the horsemen, and Alfred was knocked 
senseless by a blow which would have killed him 
but for the defence of his quarter-staff Then, 
the efforts made by the servants to rescue the 
pack-horses proved their undoing, for the fore- 
most of the robbers pursued them, and terrorised 
them into driving where he would. The other 
robber revived his stunned companion, while the 
merchants were doing the same for those who 
had come to their assistance. Soon the three 
robbers took charge of the pack-train, sending 
the servants back ; and as they disappeared 
along the road, the doctor came into view from 
some safe place, explaining that he had been 
gathering herbs for the benefit of the sorely- 
wounded pikeman. 

A council of war was quickly held ; the 
merchants said they were travelling to 
Winchester market with valuable spices and 
mercery. They despatched their servants in 
little groups to seek for the sergeants-at-arms, 
while Alfred, recovered from his stupor, and 
with the big bruise on his head dressed by the 
doctor, agreed to follow the robbers to where 





?i-'\''rW^' 




^■^'^f^i'^um^mm; 



ST CATHERINE'S (PILGRIMS' CHAPEL), GUILDFORD. 

With unique Arrangement of North and South Doors on tv:o Storeys. 




A GRASS-GROWN PIECli OF THE PILGRIMS' ^\■AV, 
The A'pproach to St Marta's, Guildjord. 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 129 

they should stop for the night, then to return 
to the road and await the party. He had not 
far to go, for the robbers were met by a larger 
band, of eight men, and all of them went to a 
neighbouring priory, where they claimed the 
usual hospitality as "king's men who had 
ridden far." The porter scanned them through 
his grated wicket but did not admit them, and 
the abbess, after looking them over, refused to 
open the door. So they broke open the barred 
door of the tithe-barn, made themselves and 
their horses comfortable for the night, and 
divided their plunder. 

When Alfred returned to his party he found 
that they had discovered the sergeants-at-arms, 
toofether with the bailiff of Alton and an armed 
knight and his squire. They were somewhat 
staggered when they heard of the augmentation 
of the party, but determined to approach the 
priory as quietly as possible, camp not far away, 
and attack the robbers as soon as they started 
in the morning. The merchants and their 
serving-men had been armed with bill-hooks and 
forks from a neighbouring farm, from which the 
farmer and one of his men came, armed with 
flails, so that they had a superiority in numbers, 
though not in weapons. 

Early next morning the robbers, who had 
eaten nothings all nio-ht, started toward Farnham. 
As soon as they were fairly on the way, an 
onslaught was made upon them, but they were 
fighting men, well mounted, and they fought 
desperately, dispersing the mob that came 
against them, and wounding many. The 

I 



i:io CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 



attackers, on their part, were no cowards, and 
soon the knight struck down one of the leaders ; 
Alfred, wild with the pain of his bruised head, 
sinofled out the man who had o-iven him the 
blow, and first disabling his horse by great 
strokes with his quarter-staff on the hamstrings, 
forced his foe to the ground and before long laid 
him senseless. A flail-blow brought down a 
third, and another was unhorsed by one of the 
serofeants-at-arms. Several others were wounded, 
and when they saw reinforcements coming in 
the shape of a small body of serving-men from 
the priory, all who could sit their horses, rode off 
toward Farnham. In the sheriff's party were 
scarce enough mounted men to make it safe to 
pursue, so they contented themselves with 
restoring the merchants' horses and goods, 
beheading the four miscreants who remained in 
their hands, and setting off toward Alton. The 
doctor and our pilgrims were content to have no 
more fighting, so took their way, as first 
arranged, toward Farnham, keeping a sharp 
lookout lest they should stumble upon the 
robbers encamped. It was well they did so, for 
they had not gone far along the road ere they 
saw clouds of dust, and had only fairly withdrawn 
amongst some trees, when a large party, 
including several of their foes, galloped past 
toward Alton. It was not difficult to guess 
their errand, and in a couple of hours the party 
came back, leading the merchants' pack-horses. 
Very slowly the pilgrims followed them toward 
Farnham. As they approached that town, they 
hid again, sending the doctor's youth to 
reconnoitre, when he found four mounted men of 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 131 

the robber party on guard at the entrance to the 
town/ 

Needless to say, our little pilgrim band lay in 
hiding until night, then made a circuit of 
Farnham, without any attempt to see the old 
church or the great castle and palace of the 
Bishop of Winchester, or even to sell pills and 
potions in the market-place. 

Some four miles beyond Farnham, our party 
was reassured by the approach of a large party 
of well-mounted wealthy pilgrims, and learned 
from some of their servants that they had come 
that morning from Waverley Abbey and were 
riding to the Abbey of Newark, along the Hog's 
Back, a narrow ridge giving wide views over 
great fertile stretches both to north and south. 
Our own pilgrims were keeping to "the" 
Pilgrims' Way, along the southern side of the 
Hog's Back, so they left the mounted company 
at Whitewaysend and bore to the right to the 
village of Seale, where they gave thanks for 
their preservation from peril ; and even the 
doctor, though he had carefully avoided any of 
the fighting, for once joined them in the church 
and missed a chance of making sales. Past the 
priory and the old church of Puttenham they 
hurried, but could not pass the beautiful little 
church of Compton, with its noble chalk pillars, 
its several altar-tombs, its cell with an ancient 
and holy anchorite, and its unique arrangement 

1 This series of fights actually occurred in 1342. The robbers were 
men of high position, including several knights. The towns were Lichfield 
(Alton) and Stafford (Farnham), and when the robbed merchants went to 
Stafford (the county town) for justice, they found the gates of the city in 
possession of the robbers, who again defeated them and drove them back 
to Lichfield. 



132 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

of a chapel above the chancel and opening into it. 
Here they lingered long, breathing the sweet 
strong breath of the great cedar-trees that line 
the churchyard. Then resuming their Pilgrims' 
Way at the point where are the late Mr G. F. 
Watts' home and public picture-gallery, they 
wound along for three miles through beautifully 
timbered land, until, just after passing Braboeuf 
Manor they emerged on the Godalming road, at 
the very foot of the mound on which St 
Catherine's Chapel is placed, though hidden from 
their view by a screen of trees. From here the 
doctor went toward Guildford, for it was 
Saturday, one of the market-days, and good for 
business. 

William and Alfred climbed to the beautiful 
little chapel, and were astonished at the curious 
method for allowing pilgrim crowds to see the 
relics, without tramping over the floor of the 
chapel or mixing with the worshippers if it were 
service-time. In addition to the west door, and 
ordinary doors in the centres of north and south 
walls, doors had been made, high up, in the 
central window-places of the side walls. They 
were approached by wooden steps. A lay 
brother, who was sitting on a little bench 
commanding a view of the ascent, led the 
pilgrims to the south side, up the steps, and 
through the upper door on to a platform built 
across the chapel, from the sides of which the 
relics were supported in beautifully painted shrines 
and caskets, so that the whole floor-space of the 
chapel was left clear for other purposes. After 
viewing the relics, the pilgrims went down to the 
ferry at the foot of St Catherine's Hill, to look 




"THE PILGRIMS CHURCH, COMPTON, SURREY. 
IVith nniquc Arrangi'inent of open Chapd over Choncd. 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 133 

at the peaceful little river Wey, then went 
forward to a hostelry of which the doctor had 
told them in Guildford. Here they had intended 
to stay until the Monday morning only, but as 
the doctor was anxious to make some sales on 
Tuesday, the second market-day, they agreed to 
wait until Wednesday morning. There were 
three parish churches : St Nicholas at the bridge- 
head, with the Loseley Chapel and the very fine 
new altar-tomb of the late rector, Arnold Brocas ; 
St Mary, a very large church with two chapels, 
many altars, and the most elaborate stonework 
and tracery they had seen outside Winchester ; 
and Trinity, locally known, from its position, as 
the high church. The bridge, much more impor- 
tant than any they had seen ; and the strong 
Saxon castle, built upon a fortress-mound of still 
earlier date, and altered and strengthened by the 
Normans, proved great wonders. Early on the 
Sunday they went to the chapel of St Marta and 
All Martyrs, on the summit of a hill three miles 
east of Guildford, a place of peculiar interest 
because it served for pilgrims only, and had no 
local population of worshippers. Some folk said 
that this building had been originally begun in 
the valley below, and that each day's work had 
been carried up the hill by fairies ; but the doctor 
laughed at such tales, and said the church had 
been built in times of war and trouble, when the 
people, for safety, lived on the hill-top, and that 
gradually, as the land became settled and safe, 
the folk moved to the fertile plains below, and 
eventually forgot that there had ever been a 
village on the hill. 

In Guildford there were far more pilgrims and 



134 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

other wayfarers than at any other point on the 
road, for the way from the west of England by 
Basinorstoke and the o^reat roads from Portsmouth 
and Chichester had joined their track. More- 
over, the great return tide from the Feast of the 
Translation began to meet them, so that now 
the way was busy enough. It was strictly a 
Pilgrims' Way, with no made road-bed : generally 
open, but sometimes fenced with a high hawthorn 
hedge on the lower side, and leading along the 
side of the Downs as near a level as might be. 
On the Wednesday our party left Guildford by 
the Pewley Hill path, which gave them a good 
view of the Chantry Wood, through which the 
main Pilgrims' Way ran ; of St Marta's Chapel on 
its height, which was probably first a high place of 
Baal ; and of the Tything F'arm, where dwelt the 
ministers of St Marta's. Their path lay over 
Albury Downs, and to the little village of Albury 
with its fine old church (now in Albury Park), 
near which they joined the chief Way. Through 
Shere and Gomshall, Wotton and Westcott 
Heath, they reached Dorking, a good market 
town. 

The next day's tramp, to Merstham, crossing 
the river Mole at Burford Bridge, which still has 
its Way Pool, then bending back along the side 
of Box Hill, Betchworth Hills, Buckland Hills, 
Colley Hill, above Reigate and through Gatton, 
was only a short journey, with few incidents. 
The little church at Gatton was interesting, and 
the church of Merstham, with its south wall 
covered with frescoes of the life of St Thomas, 
detained them a long time. 

The next day's walk was alongside Quarry 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 135 

Hangers, Arthur's Seat, Gravelly Hill, above 
Godstone, past Marden Castle, near Flinthouse 
Farm and Limpsfield Lodge to Titsey, where 
the church, no longer existing, gave them a pause. 
Past Pilgrim's Lodge Farm and along the hillside 
high above Westerham, by Pilgrim House, and 
in almost a straight line to Chevening, where 
they turned aside about a quarter of a mile to 
visit the church ; but only stayed a short time 
there, as they were pressing toward Otford. 

This little village, standing where two or three 
clear streamlets join the litde river Darenth, was 
then much more important than it is now. ^ The 
castle, now partly ruin and partly farm-building, 
was then a seat of the Archbishops of Canterbury, 
and had been a favourite abode of the sainted 
Thomas. Here all might see the great well or 
pool (it still exists) which he had drawn from the 
too dry earth by a stroke of his staff, and in its 
healing waters our pilgrims bathed before they 
slept. Here, too, it was said that no nightingale 
ever sang, because when one had interrupted 
the saint's devotions, he enjoined that it and all 
its tribe should thenceforth be silent in that 
place. The church was dedicated to St 
Bartholomew, whose special virtue was that a 
woman who was expecting to become a rnother, 
might secure either male or female offspring by 
bringing to the saint a young cockerel^ or a 
pullet as the case might be, and offering it 
with suitable prayers. 

Good plain lodgment was found in the 
buildings of the castle, and next morning the 
pilgrims were early afoot for Kemsing, where the 
image of the Saxon saint, Editha, was powerful 



136 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

in the preservation of grain from all blast, blight, 
mildew, or other disaster. Hearing much of this 
at Otford, William bought a peck of wheat, and 
Alfred a peck of oats, which they carried to 
the priest of Kemsing, who took from each bag a 
handful to lay upon the altar of the Saint. After 
the proper form of prayer and blessing, he 
sprinkled each handful with holy water, then 
gave it back to the bringer to be mingled 
amongst the seed-corn of the next sowing. 
The bulk of the offering was retained for the 
use of the church ; and the pilgrims, each 
stuffing his hallowed grain into a stocking, 
stowed it in a corner of his wallet. About five 
miles from Otford lay Wrotham, with a church 
of great size and magnificence, adjoining the 
remains of another great palace of the arch- 
bishops, a large part of which had been pulled 
down about 1355 by Simon Islip, who used the 
material for building his palace at Maidstone. 
A story connected with the palace was that of 
the vision of Richard of Dover, the successor of 
Thomas, who, in 1 184, saw a vision by his bedside, 
which said, "Who art thou? Thou art he 
that hast scattered the goods of the Church, 
therefore shalt thou be scattered." The next 
morning he set out on a journey to Rochester, 
already planned, but was struck with ''horrour 
and a chill cold," that he alighted at Hailing 
and died the next day. The church was, and is 
still, rich in brasses and ornaments ; and has an 
unusual processional passage under the tower. 

The way of most pilgrims from Wrotham was 
by the path still known as the Pilgrims' Way, 
alonor the side of the Down, above Trotterscliffe, 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 137 

above Birling, famous for the " Birling drink," 
sure cure for the bite of a mad dog ; and so to 
Hailing and across the Medway. But many took 
the lower road, through West Mailing, to Maid- 
stone. The Kentish capital was a town of great 
importance and interest, with its great church and 
college of All Saints, its archbishop's palace, 
with one of the finest tithe-barns in the world ; 
its castle, its ancient bridge, and last, but by no 
means least, the Hospice for Pilgrims, built in 
1 26 1 by Archbishop Boniface, and dedicated to 
SS. Peter, Paul, and Thomas the Martyr. At 
Mailing, on the way thither, the pilgrims stayed 
to visit the abbey, a nunnery of the Benedictine 
order, founded in Saxon times, as well as the 
church and the Norman castle. 

The Sunday quietly spent in Maidstone, and 
along the banks of the beautiful Medway, pre- 
pared the travellers for one of the most interesting 
sights of their whole journey ; and as our husband- 
men were not willing to wait with the doctor 
until after his harvest at the Tuesday's market, 
they left him and his youth and started early for 
Boxley Abbey, some two miles out of Maidstone. 
Here, before entering the abbey proper, they 
heard mass in the little chapel of St Andrew (now 
two cottages), after which they went to see the 
abbey buildings. A brother showed them the 
great dining-rooms and dormitories, the common- 
room for pilgrims, the brewhouses and bake- 
houses (now a great barn and cowshed), and at 
last took them to the church to see the two great 
wonders of which the fame had gone into all 
lands. The first of these was a rood or crucifix, 
said to have been made by an English carpenter 



138 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

during imprisonment in France, of such *' exquisite 
arte and excellencie," that it surpassed all other 
roods, for ''straunge motion, variety of gesture, 
and nimbleness of joints." On his liberation the 
carpenter was bringing his masterpiece to sell in 
London, but as he passed through Rochester, his 
horse broke away, and, leaving its master far 
behind, ran until it reached Boxley, where it 
kicked with its heels at the door of the church. 
When the door was opened, the horse walked in, 
and would not be removed by the monks, nor by 
his master, who eventually traced the runaway, 
until the monks had purchased the rood, where- 
after the horse went away quietly enough. The 
rood had this peculiar quality, that if a pilgrim 
brought a gift of value insufficient for his position, 
it frowned and looked horrible, if he crave a fair 

o 

sum, its features relaxed, while if the gift were 
as much as he could really afford, the eyes and 
lips, and limbs moved, and the smile was heavenly. 

The other wonder was a small stone image of 
St Rumbald, which every visitor was expected 
to try to lift before he was allowed to see the 
Rood of Grace. If he were guilty of any un- 
repented sin, or if a woman were unchaste, the 
little figure could not be lifted ; but if their con- 
sciences were clear, they lifted it very easily. In 
case of failure, they were not to see or offer to the 
rood until they had confessed to, and had been 
shriven by, one of the monks, after which they 
could always easily perform the test of Rumbald. 

The Pilgrims' Way lay about a mile above 
the abbey, and skirted along the slope of the 
Downs, as it had done through Surrey and the 
west of Kent, with glorious views of the Garden 



THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 139 

of England. They passed the ruins of Thornham 
Castle, said to have been built by a Saxon 
named Godard, and near the churches of Thorn- 
ham, Hollingbourne, Harrietsham, and Lenham, 
at each of which they called, yet reached Charing 
in good time to see the palace, one of the oldest 
residences of the Archbishops of Canterbury ; and 
the church, which contained the block on which 
John the Baptist had been beheaded. After 
supper they walked to the top of Charing Hill, to 
see the glorious prospect, the wide vale stretching 
away to south and east and west, and the distant 
hill-line crowned by a fortress-like church tower. 
And, sitting there as the sun declined, remember- 
ing that next day they ought to reach Canterbury, 
they recalled to each other the wonders they had 
seen, and the adventures they had met since 
leaving home. 

They had several times seen men carrying a 
javelin in the right hand, and a letter or wallet in 
the left, hurrying along the road, and the doctor 
had told them that these were messengers, 
employed by the king or some great man. They 
travelled further and faster than any horse could 
do on the rous^h roads of those times — one of them 
would make the journey from Canterbury to Win- 
chester in two long summer days, and most of 
them would carry a missive for any one for a 
consideration, if it did not hinder his regular work. 
So that night they got a kindly monk to write a 
letter to the carrier from Winchester to Michel- 
dever, asking him to tell their family (none of 
whom could read) of their safe arrival nearly at 
the end of their journey ; and next morning they 
met a messenger who for twelve pence was willing 



I40 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

to carry the missive. That day they passed the 
churches of Westwell, Eastwell, and Boughton 
Court ; within sight of Godmersham, past Chil- 
ham, and through Bigberry Wood to Harble- 
down, where they joined the road from London, 
saw the relics at the leper hospital, and entered 
Canterbury by the same way as the penitent 
Henry II. and Chaucer's pilgrims. 



CHAPTER VII 

GEOFFREY CHAUCER AND HIS WORKS 

It seems necessary to a proper understanding 
of the cult of St Thomas, and of the characters 
of the pilgrims and pilgrimages to his shrine, 
that we should know something of the history of 
the poet of the pilgrimages. 

Geoffrey Chaucer was born, most probably, 
in or about 1340, and in a house in Thames 
Street, London, which he owned after his father's 
death. His paternal grandfather, Robert le 
Chaucer, was appointed a collector of the duties 
upon wines in the Port of London, in 13 10. 
John, the poet's father, inherited Robert's 
property (left in trust), and when he was between 
twelve and fourteen years old, in December 1324, 
he was kidnapped and an attempt made to marry 
him by force to Joan de Westhale. He was 
rescued by his stepfather, who took action 
against the kidnappers and had them fined ;^2 5o, 
an enormous sum in those days, and one they 
were unable to pay. As a result they sent pleas 
to parliament, including one in 1328, which 
stated that John Chaucer was alive, at large, and 
still unmarried. The importance of this lies in 



142 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

disproving the long-accepted statement that 
Geoffrey Chaucer was born in 1328. John 
Chaucer married Agnes, a niece of Hamo de 
Compton, at some date of which we have no 
trace, and she survived him ; so that unless he 
married more than once, she was the poet's 
mother. 

In 1356 a certain Geoffrey Chaucer, almost 
undoubtedly the one in whom we are interested, 
was a page in the household of Elizabeth de 
Burgh, Countess of Ulster, and wife of Prince 
Lionel of Antwerp, third son of Edward III., and 
it is perhaps well to remember that on September 
19, of this year, the Black Prince fought the 
great battle of Poitiers ; the news of which 
would strongly stir every young Englishman. 
Until 1359, at least, Chaucer remained in the 
same service, and in 1359 he became a soldier, 
probably in the service of Prince Lionel, who 
then accompanied his father to the invasion of 
France. Meanwhile, at Christmas 1357, the 
Countess of Ulster was at Hatfield, in Yorkshire, 
a favourite seat of the Plantagenet kings, and 
the place where Prince William of Hatfield, the 
second son of Edward III., had been born. The 
visit of the countess was a long one, and during 
this Christmastide she entertained John of 
Gaunt, who was afterward to be a true friend to 
Geoffrey Chaucer, and who, probably, first made 
his acquaintance at this time. This Yorkshire 
visit has an important bearing upon some of 
the works doubtfully ascribed to Chaucer, and 
declared by certain critics to be the work of some 
other man, because they contain a few north- 
country forms of words and grammar. 



CHAUCER AND HIS WORKS 143 

In the French Campaign of 1359-60, Chaucer 
was taken prisoner while serving before 
'' Retters," a town which can not be identified 
with certainty. He was ransomed on March 1, 
1360, when the king ''contributed" £16 toward 
the ransom. About this time, probably on his 
return from the war, he became a member of the 
king's household; and in 1367 the king granted 
him, ''for past and future services," an annual 
sum of twenty marks for life. He was then a 
yeoman of the king's chamber, and sometime 
before the end of 1368 he was promoted to be an 
esquire of the lesser degree. 

Chaucer was probably married in 1366 (or 
earlier) to Philippa, one of the maids of the 
queen's chamber, for, on September 12, 1366, a 
pension of ten marks a year for life was granted 
to Philippa Chaucer ; and this was drawn in 
1374, and in some later years by Geoffrey 
Chaucer her husband. It has been suggested 
that this maiden was probably Philippa Roet, 
daughter of a knightly family, and sister of 
Katherine Roet, who became the third wife of 
John of Gaunt. If this is so, probably Geoffrey 
was the father of Thomas Chaucer (died 1434), 
who was member of several parliaments, was 
Speaker of the House more than once, and was 
chief butler to Richard II. and succeeding kings. 
This Chaucer changed his own arms, late in life, 
for those of Roet, which are shown on his tomb, 
and there are many pieces of evidence which 
connect him with Geoffrey. Thus the probabilities 
re Philippa Roet strengthen the connection with 
Thomas, and the strong probabilities re Thomas 
strengthen the Philippa Roet claim, but neither 



144 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

can be said to be established with absolute 
certainty. 

In 1369, Chaucer was again in France, 
fighting in that disastrous war of pestilence and 
pillage, brightened by no great feat of arms, 
which lost for England so much of her conti- 
nental possessions, and caused the lingering 
death of the gallant Black Prince. The next 
year he was abroad on the royal business, and a 
protection was given for his property against 
creditors until Michaelmas 1370. He was 
certainly in England in October of that year, 
when he drew his pension, and this was drawn 
by him, personally, in the next two years. These 
matters are mentioned, not for their importance, 
but to show the materials on which the story of 
the poet's life is based. 

On November 12, 1372, Chaucer was 
appointed, with two citizens of Genoa, to 
negotiate an arrangement with the duke and 
merchants of Genoa for their traders to settle in 
some English port: and by November 22, 1373, 
the pension roll tells us that he was back in 
England. 

On St George's Day, 1374, the king granted 
to Chaucer a pitcher of wine per day for life ; this 
was compounded in money in 1377, and in 1378 
exchanged for a second pension of twenty marks 
a year. In May 1374 he leased from the City 
Corporation the dwelling-house above Aldgate ; 
in June he was made controller of the Customs 
of the Port of London for Wools and Hides ; 
agreeing to be constantly in attendance and to 
keep the accounts with his own hand ; and in the 
same month he and his wife received grant of 




GEOFFKEY CHAUCER. 

lUwoducedfrom Harl. MS. (Ocdeve's "Deregimina Frlncipvm-). 



CHAUCER AND HIS WORKS 145 

^10 a year pension from John of Gaunt, for 
good services rendered. 

In 1375 he was given the guardianship of the 
estates of two minors — offices of profit — and in 
the next year the king made him a grant of over 
£']0, the value of some wool forfeited for non- 
payment of duty. Late in 1376 he was on a 
secret mission with Sir John Burley ; early in 
1377 he went on secret service to Flanders with 
Sir Thomas Percy, and late in the same year he 
was in France, probably in connection with the 
peace treaty then in negotiation. 

In June 1377, Edward III. died, but Chaucer 
continued to be employed by the court. Early 
in 1378 he was probably with the party negoti- 
ating a marriage betv/een Richard II. and the 
French princess, and in June of the same year 
he went with Sir Edward Berkeley on a mission 
to the Lord of Milan ; almost certainly returning 
about the end of January 1379. In 1380, 1381, 
and 1382, Chaucer and his wife must have been 
closely in touch with the household of John of 
Gaunt, for on the New Year's Day of each of 
these years the lady received a silver-gilt cup 
and cover from John of Gaunt. 

In 1 38 1 the same John of Gaunt paid over 
;^50 for the novitiate fees of an Elizabeth Chaucer 
in the Abbey of Barking. Whether this was a 
daughter of Geoffrey, we do not know ; but we do 
know something of a little son, Lowys (Louis or 
Lewis), for whom, ten years later, he wrote a 
lesson-book, a Treatise on the Astrolabe. 

In May 1382, Chaucer received a new 
controllership of customs, with permission to 
do the work by deputy; and early in 1385 a 

K 



146 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

similar permission was given for his old con- 
trollership of wool and hides. To the parlia- 
ment of 1386 he was called, as one of the two 
knights of the shire, for Kent. In October of 
that year, he gave evidence on behalf of Lord 
Scrope in a case dealing with the heraldic 
bearings of that nobleman, in the record of 
which it is said that the witness was '' forty 
years old and upward," and that he stated he 
had borne arms for twenty-seven years. 

At this time the affairs of the king began to 
be troublous, and Chaucer suffered in the 
temporary eclipse of the royalist party. He 
gave up his house on the Gate in October, and 
lost both his controllerships in or before 
December of the same year. After midsummer 
in 1387, his wife probably died, for there is no 
later record of the payment of her pension ; and 
in May 1388, he assigned both his own pensions 
to one John Scalby, thus suggesting that he was 
in financial difficulties and mortgaged his expecta- 
tions. In May 1389, the king dismissed the 
councillors who had been in the ascendant, John 
of Gaunt returned to England and to influence, 
and Chaucer was made a Clerk of the Works for 
the palace of Westminster, the Tower of London, 
and other royal properties. In 1390, he was 
employed on other practical works, at St George's 
Chapel, Windsor, and the tilt-yard in Smithfield ; 
and was made a commissioner for the repair of 
roads and river-banks between Greenwich and 
Woolwich. 

Chaucer was evidently entrusted with royal 
moneys to a considerable extent, for, twice in 
one day (September 6, 1390) he was robbed by 



CHAUCER AND HIS WORKS 147 

the same gang of highwaymen, once at West- 
minster, and once at Hatcham in Surrey, some 
three miles from London Bridge. He lost his 
horse and other property, as well as ^20 
belonging to the king, and it is satisfactory to 
know that a writ of January 6, 1391, forgave him 
the repayment of the money, and that most of 
the members of the gang were taken and hanged. 
In June and July 1391, he resigned or was 
removed from his clerkships of works, but for 
(at least) a couple of years longer he continued 
as commissioner of roads and river-banks. In 
1 39 1, too, he was engaged upon a work which 
was very truly a labour of love, the writing of an 
astrolabe for his little ten-year-old Louis, then 
under the tuition of Strode, of Merton Cellege, 
Oxford. It begins : — " Lyte Lowys, my son, I 
perceive well by certain evidences thine ability to 
learn sciences touching numbers and proportions ; 
and as well consider 1 thy busy prayer in special 
to learn the Treatise on the Astrolabe. Then for 
as much as a philosopher saith, *he wrappeth 
him in his friend, that condescendeth to the 
rightful prayers of his friend,' therefore have I 
given thee a sufficient astrolabe as for our horizon 
compounded after the latitude of Oxenforde. . . . 
This treatise will I shew thee under full light 
rules and naked words in English, for Latin 
canst (knowest) thou yet but small, my little 
son. . . . And Lowys, if so be that I shew thee 
in my light English as true conclusions touching 
this matter, and not only as true but as many 
and as subtle conclusions as be shewed in Latin 
in any common treatise of the astrolabe, konne 
me the more thank. And pray God save the 



148 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

king that is lord of this language, and all that 
him faith beareth and obeyeth, everiche (each) in 
his degree, the more and the less." 

Soon after this the poet must have been in 
financial difficulties, and a poem remains, addressed 
to Henry Scogan, his friend, his disciple in 
poetry, and a courtier, as from one '*as dull as 
dead, forgot in solitary wilderness " (Greenwich) 
to one "who kneelest at the streames head of 
grace, of all honour, and worthiness " ; and it is 
supposed possible that a new pension of ^20 a 
year for life, granted to Chaucer in 1394, was a 
result of this appeal. For some years he took 
subsidies in advance of his pension (once, as little 
as six shillings and eightpence) and in 1398 he 
was being sued for a debt of ;^i4, and secured 
royal letters of protection against his pursuers. 
In October he begged some more support, '*for 
the sake of God and as a work of Charity," and 
Richard granted him an annual tun of wine. 
Exactly a year later, when Richard was deposed 
and Henry IV. upon the throne, the new king 
granted him an additional pension of forty marks 
a year, with the result that he took a house in 
the garden of St Mary's Chapel, Westminster, 
for a term of fifty-three years, '' if he shall live so 
long," from December 24, 1399. This peculiar 
term of years means nothing more than that 
what was granted was really a lease for life, in 
which it was felt necessary to insert a definite 
term of years ; and probably the exact number 
was coterminous with the lease of some adjoining 
property. Nothing further is known, certainly, 
of the poet's life, save that he drew instalments 
of his pensions during 1400. On October 25 he 



CHAUCER AND HIS WORKS 149 

died, and was buried in St Benet's Chapel, 
Westminster Abbey : where later poets have 
been grouped around him until the old name of 
the chapel has been superseded by the familiar 
title of ''The Poets' Corner." Though so little 
is really known of Geoffrey Chaucer (a host of 
'' facts " in the older biographies are uncertain or 
untrue), the few things we do know fit in well 
with his works. There is an undoubted period 
of French influence, a period of Italian influence, 
and a period of native, unaided genius ; accounted 
for by the wars and diplomacy in France ; the 
embassies to Italy ; and the period of con- 
trollerships and commissionerships in England. 
Professsor Ten Brink, one of the keenest critics 
of Chaucer's text, places his principal works in 
these periods as follows : — i. French influence 
and originals (before 1372): — T^e Romamit of 
the Rose ; The Book of the Duchess ; The Second 
Nuns Tale ; and part of The Monies Tale. 
2. Italian influence (1373-1384): — The Clerk of 
Oxford's Tale ; Palainon and Arcite ; Complaint 
to his Lady ; Complaint to Pity ; Cojnplaint of 
Mars ; The Parson s Tale ; The Man of Laws 
Tale ; Troilus and Cressida ; The Parliament of 
Fowls; and The Hoitse of Fame. 3. Native 
genius (1384- ) : — The Legend of Good Women ; 
several of The Canterbury Tales; The Treatise 
on the Astrolabe ; The Complaint of V ernes ; The 
Envoy to Scogan ; and The Envoy to Bukton. 

An infinite amount of discussion has surged 
around the question of the real authorship of 
various works attributed to Chaucer, but their 
consideration is beyond the scope of the present 
book. Some of the strongest and most careful 



I50 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

criticism is based on the use or neglect of the 
various dialects of English, of which the three 
great divisions in Chaucer's time were Northern, 
Midland (including London ; and through London 
affecting Kent), and Southern. Chaucer's author- 
ship is strongly questioned because certain works 
contain a few northern words and phrases : yet 
this seems strange, in view of his visit to Hatfield 
in Yorkshire, at a time when his mind was 
particularly impressionable, and of the fact that 
he makes the Clerks of Cambridge, in the Reeve's 
Tale speak the northern dialect. May we not 
rather see in the frequency of Yorkshire forms an 
evidence of early work, and in the occurrence of 
forms peculiar to the Kentish branch of the 
southern speech a suggestion of the later period ? 

The great gifts of Chaucer to the English 
tongue and nation, are two. First, from the 
popular point of view, is the invaluable historical 
and social record given mainly in the Can/er- 
bit7y Tales. Second, and infinitely greater in 
real importance, is his influence on fixing and 
establishing the English language, by his work as 
the first, and, for a long time, the only author who 
used that tongue for writing which was great and 
classical, yet popular in the extreme. Poetically, 
Chaucer is marked by many strong characteristics. 
His keen observation and love of nature are illus- 
trated at every turn, even more strongly by his 
similes and casual allusions than by his studied 
descriptions — fine though the latter undoubtedly 
are. 

His aloofness, which allowed him to see with- 
out personal bias, made him an excellent inter- 
preter of the moods and feelings of men and 



CHAUCER AND HIS WORKS 151 

women : — he is as true in his picture of the gat- 
toothed Wife of Bath, as in those of the ''very- 
perfect, gentle knight," or the Poor Parson of a 
Town. His great dramatic power is constantly 
shown, but nowhere more strongly than in the 
characterisation of the Canterbury pilgrims : — 
each typical of a well-marked and important class, 
yet each clearly individualised in the brief space 
given by the prologue and links. For examples 
of his pathos, one may refer to the death of 
Arcite, in the Knight's Tale, or the lament of 
Constance in the Man of Law's ; sublimity of 
description is found in the vision in the Temple of 
Mars in the Knight's Tale ; and for description 
of womanly grace, what can be better than the 
picture of an English girl, which begins : — 

" I saw her dance so comelily, 
Carol and sing so sweetely, 
Laughe and play so womanly." 

In the present volume, only a portion of the 
Canterbury Tales can be dealt with, but on the 
general subject of Chaucer's works we may well 
quote James Russell Lowell : "" One of the 
world's three or four best story-tellers, he was 
also one of the best versifiers that have ever made 
English to trip and sing with a gaiety that seems 
careless, but where every foot beats time to the 
time of the thought." 



CHAPTER VIII 

Chaucer's pilgrims : men of the world 

Great as were the many gifts of Geoffrey 
Chaucer to EngHsh Hterature, none of them can 
compare with the wonderful storehouse of 
the Canterbury Tales, and especially their pro- 
logue, links, and incidental references to the 
pilgrims. Full of pictures, freely yet firmly and 
crisply drawn by a keen observer, they show us 
the men and women of the time, sketching both 
their doings and their modes of thought in an 
inimitable style. Thus they form the essential 
material of which history is made, and they come 
to us^ unsophisticated, from one writing of his 
own times. 

This book is not the place in which to dissect 
or elaborately comment upon the works of 
Chaucer, and no one can obtain their full value 
save by an intimate acquaintance with the works 
themselves; yet it may be profitable to deal 
briefly with the characters of the pilgrims and 
with the tales they told, in the hope of inducing 
many who have not made a study of Chaucer, to 
do so. In ^'modernising" the English, no 
attempt has been made to translate or to 
paraphrase. The spelling has been wholly or 
partially modernised wherever it seemed advan- 




s^ -^^^qs: 



o c -t 

W S ^ I 1 

o -^ ^ -i s 



a; =1 ^ is; 



O ^ 'M CO -t< 



S J -J ^ 

=^ I III 

^^ ^ 5; fe O 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 153 

tageous to do so, and where the rhyme or rhythm 
could not suffer as a result. In only a very few 
cases has a word been changed, where an 
absolute synonym was available ; and for the 



Chaucer 

{From the Ellesmere MS."). 



rest, foot-notes have been given to such words as 
are likely to be difficulties to any reader. 
Accents to mark syllables which were accentu- 



154 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

ated in the fourteenth century, but which usually 
are not so to-day, have been sparingly used, and 
in a few monosyllables which require such a long 
pronunciation as to be practically dissylables, the 
vowel has been doubled, accentuating the second 
one. This usually occurs at the beginnings of 
lines. In preparing this version, the excellent 
text of the Globe Edition has been almost 
entirely relied upon. 

First amongst the pilgrims we naturally place 
Chaucer himself, and it is to be regretted that we 
have not the same material for his portrait as we 
have in the case of his companions. Still, he has 
given us a few glimpses of the character in which 
he wished to appear. He was a lover of his 
fellows, a born gossip, who tells us : — 

" And shortly, when the sunne was to rest, 
So had I spoken with them everyone, 
That I was of their fellowship anon." 

He was modest and unobtrusive, keeping near 
enough to hear the tales of the other pilgrim.s, 
but not forcing himself forward. The host did 
not know him, but at the close of the tale of the 
Prioress called him : — 

"What man art thou? 
Thou lookest as thou wouldest find a hare ; 
For ever upon the ground I see thee stare. 
Approache near, and look up merrily. 
Now 'war! you, sirs, and let this man have place ; 
He in the waist is shaped as well as I ; 
This were a poppet^ in an arm t'embrace 
For any woman, small and fair of face. 
He seemeth elfish by his countenance, 
For unto no wight doth he dalliance." 

1 beware [or children 

2 puppet, or doll ; used as a teim of endearment, especially to babies 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 155 

This description seems contradictory, for the 
reference to the waist infers that he was a burly- 
man, as was the host ; and the description of 
such a man as a ''poppet" might be intended 
satirically. Yet ''small and fair of face," and 
"elfish," imply an under-sized, delicately-built 
person, and such a shape would agree with the 
character which meekly accepted the host's 
judgment that his story was drasty (rubbishy) 
and a mere v/asting of the time. An incidental 
reference in the prologue to the Parson's Tale 
shows that Chaucer, the pilgrim (and presumably 
Chaucer, the man), was in the habit of regarding 
himself as a gnomon of six feet in height when 
he wanted to tell the time : — 

" Four of the clock it was then, as I guess 
For eeleven foot, a Uttle more or less, 
My shadow was at thilke ^ time, as there 
Of such feet as my lengthe parted were 
In six feet equal of proportioun." 

Though the host was a very different man, there 
can be no doubt that as a character he was just 
after Chaucer's own heart. His description is 
given* later, in introducing the tales of the first 
day. His good-humour, mirth and jollity kept 
the party of pilgrims constantly amused and 
entertained, his tact smoothed over the differences 
that arose by the way, and his fine presence and 
bold speech prevented any one disputing his 
decisions. If he was rough and coarse, from our 
point of view, it was in keeping with the coarse- 
ness of the day ; he was generous and sympathetic 
by nature, and, moreover, was "wise and well 

1 that 



156 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

y-taught." There is some reason to believe that 
he was drawn from life, for the name, Harry 
Bailey, is found in records of the time. As his 
character is well developed in the links between 
the tales (see later chapters), there is no need to 
elaborate it here. 

The knight was another character evidently 
loved by Chaucer. Of him he says :— 

" A knight there was and that a worthy man, 
That fro the tyme that he first began 
To riden out, he loved chivalry, 
Truth and honour, freedom and courtesy. 
Full worthy was he in his lordes werre,^ 
And thereto had he riden, no man ferre,^ 
As well in Christendom as in heathenesse,^ 
And ever honoured for his worthiness. 
At Alisaundre * he was when it was won ; 
Full ofte time he had the board begun ^ 
Aboven alle nations in Pruce,^ 
In Lettow ^ had he reysed ^ and in Ruce ^ 
No Christian man so oft of his degree. 
In Gernade ^^ at the siege eke had he be 
Of Algezir,!^ and riden in Belmarye.^^ 
At Lyeys ^^ was he, and at Satalye,^* 
When they were won ; and in the Greate Sea ^^ 
y At many a noble armee ^^ had he be. 
At mortal battles had he been fifteen, 
And foughten for our faith in Tramysene. 
In listes thries,^^ and ay slain his foe. 
This ilke^^ worthy knight had been also 
Sometime with the lord of Palatye ^^ 
Agayn ^o another heathen in Turkye ; ^i 
And evermore he had a sovereign prize. 
And though that he were worthy, he was wise, 

^ war 7 Lithuania i^ Mediterranean 

'^ further s raided i« warlike expedition 

2 heathen lands ^ Russia " thrice 

^ Alexandria, captured ^^ Granada ^^ same 

in 1356 11 Algegiras, 1344 ^^ A state in Asia Minor 

^ sat at the head of the ^'^ ? Palmyra -« against 

table 1^ Lyeys, Armenia ^^ Turkey 

^ Prussia ^4 Attalia, 1352 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 



157 



And of his port^ as meek as is a maid. 

He never yet no villany ne said, 

In all his life, unto no manner wight ^ 

He was a very perfect, gentle knight. ■ 

But for to tellen you of his array 

His horse was good, but he ne was not gay ; 




The Knight 

(^Froni the Ellesmere MS^, 



Of fustian he weared a gypon ^ 
Aall besmothered with his habergeon ^ 
For he was late y-come from his vo3^age 
And wente for to do his pilgrimage." 



' demeanour 

2 no manner wight— no kind of person 



■' jupon, a short vest 
^ coat oi mail 



158 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

If we accept 1387 as the date of Chaucer's 
tales, the knight must have been a well-seasoned 
warrior, for we are told that he was at the siege 
of Alge^iras when it fell to Alfonso XL after an 
investment of twenty months, in 1344, and yet 
at the time of the pilgrimage he was '' late y-come 
from his voyage." The fighting in Russia and 
Lithuania may well have been earlier, though it 
is difficult to fix exact dates to the military 
enterprises named, for the countries were in an 
almost constant state of warfare. The Teutonic 
knights, with^ whom he *^full often had the 
board begun," were a powerful militant order, 
founded in the Holy Land, and reorganised in 
1 1 90 after the siege of Acre. They obeyed the 
Augustinian rule, and as especial secular objects 
had the tending of sick and wounded pilgrims 
and war against pagans. Very possibly the fact 
that St Thomas of Canterbury had been taken as 
the patron saint of Acre caused Chaucer to con- 
nect this pilgrim knight with the body founded in 
that city. The Teutonic knights conquered 
Poland in 1220, to turn it from heathendom to 
Christianity, and between 1230 and 1240 they 
captured Prussia, for the same purpose. In 1309 
their headquarters were moved to Marienburg, 
and their most prosperous period was from 1351- 
82 when they ruled over lands extending from the 
banks of the Oder in the east, to the Gulf of 
Finland in the west, and were more influential 
than any monarch in the politics of Europe. The 
people of the conquered countries were frequently 
in revolt, hence our knight would have ample 
chance of fighting in Lithuania, Poland, and 
Russia. Satalye (Adalia or Attalia), the capital 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 159 

of Pamphylia, had been taken from the Turks by 
the Venetians in 1307, from them by the Mongols, 
a little later, and regained for Christianity by the 
Genoese in 1352. The capture of Alexandria in 
1356 was another incident of the interminable 
wars between Christian and paynim, which, since 
the crusades in the Holy Land had broken down, 
enlisted the services of the knights-errant. When 
we realise that during the very time when 
Chaucer's knight was warring in Spain and in the 
East, the English kings were in glorious war 
with France (battle of Cregy 1346, Poitiers 1356), 
it is plain that Chaucer definitely chose an errant 
knight of the Cross as his type of chivalry. Like 
other knights of the time, when the purity of 
chivalry was much decayed, he regarded fighting 
as partly a matter of business, and cheerfully took 
his "sovereign prize" when plunder was divided. 
His character, as a **very gentle, perfect 
knight," is well maintained in his tale and in the 
few other references to him. 

" With him there was his son, a young squier 
A lover and a lusty bacheler 
With lockes cruUe ^ as they were laid in press. 
Of twenty year of age he was, I guess. 
Of his stature he was of even length 
And wonderly delyvere^ and great of strength 
And he had been some time in chyvachie,^ 
In Flanders, in Artois and Picardy, 
And borne him well, as of so little space, 
In hope to standen in his lady's grace. 
Embrouded^ was he, as it were a mead 
All full of fresshe floweres white and reede ; ^ 
Singing he was, or fluting, all the day ; 
He was as fresh as is the month of May. 

1 curling '^ active service ^ red 

- active ^ embroidered Q.e. his garments) 



i6o CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Short was his gown, with sleeves long and wide ; 

Well could he sit on horse and faire ride ; 

He coulde songes make and well endite, 

Joust eke, and dance, and well pourtray and write. 

So hot he loved that by nightertale ^ 

He slept no more than doth a nightingale. 

Courteous he was, lowly and servysable ^ 

And carved before his father at the table." 

The young squire, though prone to a little 
personal vanity, will be seen to be one of those 




The Squire 
(JFrom the Ellesmere MS.'). 



obedient (serviceable), handy young men who did 
so much for the comfort, and even the success, of 
the knight who travelled in simple style. Chaucer 
tells us that in riding with one yeoman only, the 

* night ^ obedient 




THE CLOISTERS, CANTERBURY. 



Cellarers' Door. 

Door to Transept of Martyrdom. 



Door to Monks' DonaUorij. 
West Cloister: Knights' Route. 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS i6i 

knight consulted his own taste ; and we see that 
the squire's training had been in the house of 
some knight other than his father, for his active 
service had been in places unmentioned in the 
knight's list. 

" A yeoman had he and servants namo^ 
At that time, for him Hste ^ ride ^ so ; 
And he was clad in coat and hood of green. 
A sheaf of pocock^ arrows, bright and keen, 
Under his belt he bare full thriftily — 
Well could he dress his tackle yeomanly ; 
His arrows drooped not with feathers low — 
And in his hand he bare a mighty bow. 
A nut-head^ had he \yith a brown visage. 
Of woodcraft well koude^ he all the usage. 
Upon his arm he bore a gay bracer,'' 
And b}^ his side a sword and bokeler ^ 
And on that other side a gay daggere, 
Harnessed ^ well and sharp as point of spear ; 
A Christopher ^^ on his breast of silver sheen ; 
A horn he bore, the baldrick was of green. 
A forster ^^ was he, soothly as I guess." 

The Yeoman requires little comment, but the 
next lay character opens several glimpses into the 
conditions of the country. 

'' A Merchant was there with a forked beard. 
In motteley,^^ and high on horse he sat ; 
Upon his head a Flandrish ^^ beaver hat ; 
His bootes clasped fair and fetisly ; '^'^ 
His reasons he spake full solempnely,^^ 
Sowning ^^ alway th'encrees ^^ of his winning. 
He would the sea were kept for anything 
Betwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle. 
Well could he in exchaunge^^ sheeldes ^^ sell. 



^ no more 


8 buckler 


1^ of Flanders 


2 chose 


® furnished 


" neatly 


2 to ride 


^^ a sacred image of St 


1^ impressively 


■* peacock 


Christopher ; worn 


1^ tending 


^' close-cropped head 


as an amulet 


1"^ the increase 


^ knew 


11 forester 


^^ exchange 


■* arm-guard 


1^ motley clothing 


1" French crown pieces 
L 



i62 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

This worthy man full well his wit ^ bisette,^ 

There wiste^ no wight ^ that he was in debt, 

So estatly ^ was he of governaunce ^ 

With his bargains and with his chevyssaunce ^ 

For sothe ^ he was a worthy man withal 

But sooth ^ to say, I noot^ how men him call." 

It was the habit of merchants to go on 
pilgrimage simply to avoid their creditors, while 
some particular '' bad time " blew over or some 




The Merchant 
{From the Elksmere MS.). 

venture came to maturity, and Chaucer, with a 
touch of his sly humour, carefully avoids telling 
us whether his present merchant's journey was for 
this purpose. He does not say that he was 
wealthy, or free from debt, but says that he kept 
folk from knowing he was in debt, if it were so. 
His Flandrish hat suggests that he traded to 

^ knowledge * person ' obtaining credit 

^ utilised ^ substantial ^ truth 

^ knew ^ management ^ know not 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 163 

Flanders — many merchants bought their goods 
abroad, and chartered a ship in which they 
returned home with them ; and the selling of 
French crown pieces at a profit on the exchange, 
also fits with the idea of his travelling. The 
keeping of the sea betwixt Middleburg and the 
mouth of the river Orwell was important to many 
merchants, for pirates abounded and constant com- 
plaints were being made to the crown, with the 
result that at times the king gave the custody of the 
narrow seas to the merchants themselves. In this 
connection the ''Shipman" may well be introduced. 

" A Shipman was there wonynge fer ^ by west ; 
For aught I woot ^ he was of Dartemouth. 
He rode upon a rouncy ^ as he couthe,* 
lin a gown of falding ^ to the knee 
A dagger hanging on a lace had he 
About his neck under his arm adown. 
The hoote ^ sunne had made his hue all brown ; 
And certainly he was a good felawe." 
Full many a draught of wine had he y-draw ^ 
Fro Bordeaux-ward while that the chapman ^ sleep 
Of nice conscience took he no keep. 
If that he fought, and had the higher hand ; 
By water he sent 'em home to every land.^^ 
But of his craft to reckon well his tides, 
His stremes ^^ and his dangers him beside 
His harbourage and his moon, his lode-menage ^^ 
There was none such from HuUe to Carthage. 
Hardy he was, and wise to undertake ^^ 
With many a tempest had his beard been shake ; 
He knew well ail the havens as they were, 
From Jutland to the Cape of Finisterre, 
And every creek in Brittany and Spain. 
His barge y-cleped ^^ was the Maudelayne." 



^ hailing from far 


6 hot 


^1 currents 


2 know 


'' fellow 


^'^ cargo-stowing 


3 farm horse 


^ drawn 


12 speculate in merchan- 


4 could 


9 trader 


dise 


5 frieze or ''dread- 


i<^ threw the conquered 


14 called 


naught " 


overboard 





i64 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

He was, for aught Chaucer knew, a man of 
Dartmouth, then one of our principal ports, and 
one from which a considerable passenger traffic 
was done in pilgrims from the west and midlands 
to St James of Compostella. His ship was 
called the Maudeleyne (or Magdelene) ; and 
curiously enough, we have records of an actual 
ship of that name, registered at Dartmouth, 




The Shipman 
{From the Ellesmere MS.). 

whose master in 1379 was George Cowntree ; 
and in 1392 was Peter Risshenden. He was in 
the habit of stealing wine from the casks of 
Bordeaux, even while the chapman or merchant 
was aboard — but while he slept ; and if he was 
victorious in fight he " sent his prisoners home 
by water," or in true piratical style made them 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 165 

" walk the plank " and drown themselves. All 
sailors were fighting men, and as the royal navy 
consisted simply of merchant ships commandeered 
from time to time, this was very necessary. The 
various countries were constantly veering about, 
between peace, open warfare, and half-respected 
treaty truces, and even when the lands were 
nominally at peace, the retaliatory laws of trade 
were constantly altering. Thus, at one time it 
was forbidden to buy foreign goods for English 
money (all must be '' truck " or barter), and every- 
thing was done to encourage the import of 
silver-ware, gold-ware, and bullion. At another 
time the reverse policy applied, and no foreign 
money was to be accepted here. Truly the 
merchant who dealt in **sheeldes" must needs 
be a wise man to watch the laws and to profit by 
the exchanges. With such constant changes, 
when there was not open war there was fiscal 
warfare, and the man who put to sea without 
adequate means of defence was looked upon 
as a fool who deserved to be robbed by a 
seaman of any other nation ; just as the man 
wrecked upon a dangerous coast was killed by 
the inhabitants lest he should claim the salvage 
of his own ship and cargo. Even the great 
Venetian fleet which sailed to England and 
Flanders once a year carried thirty bow-men on 
every vessel. 

The seam.an rode upon a '*rouncy," or farm 
horse, evidently one he had hired from a livery- 
man ; and probably such a creature was imposed 
upon him as being most suitable for one who 
could not ride very well. Why he joined the 
pilgrims we know not, but probably he had often 



i66 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

carried such travellers between England and the 
Continent. He would know well the inter- 
national laws or rules for governing pilgrims ; 
such as, that if any man killed a fellow-traveller, 
he should be bound to the corpse and thrown 
into the sea, or it' on land, should be bound to, 
and buried alive with the corpse. Any one who 
used a knife to the effusion of blood should lose 
one hand ; or who struck with the hand only, 
drawing no blood, should be ducked three times 
in the sea. The pilgrim who abused, insulted, or 
slandered another was to be fined one ounce of 
silver for each offence ; and a robber convicted of 
theft was to have his head shaved, boiling pitch 
poured thereon, the feathers of a pillow shaken 
over him, and to be put ashore at the first port 
where the ship touched. Truly strange penalties 
to be inflicted by the honest ship captain who 
stole wine for his own use ** while that the 
chapman sleep." 

A pilgrim who travelled a little later than 
Chaucer's day (1434), has given a touching 
account of the crowding, the sea-sickness, the 
smells, and the rough handling and chaff of the 
sailors, from which the pilgrims suffered. He 
says : — 

" Men may leave all gamys 
That sailen to Saint Jamys 
For many a man it gramys ^ 

When they begin to sail. 
For when they have take the sea 
At Sandwich or at Winchelsea 
At Bristow, or where that it be 

Their hearts begin to fail." 

1 grieves 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 167 

The captain, like the common seamen, 
chaffed his pilgrim passengers, crying in their 
hearing :— 

" Haul the bow line ! vere the sheet ! 
Cook, make ready anon our meat, 
Our pilgrims have no lust ^ to eat 
I pray God give them rest. 

This meane while the pilgrims lie 
And have their bowles fast them by," 

while others, 

" Laid their bookes on their knee, 
And read so long they might not see : 
' Alas ! my head will cleave in three.' " 

Returning from the Shipman to the lay 
character following the Merchant in Chaucer's 
own arrangement, we find : — 

" A Sergeant of the La we, ware and wise. 
That often hadde been at the Parvys,^ 
There was also, full rich of excellence. 
Discreet he was, and of great reverence ; 
He seemed such, his wordes were so wise. 
Justice he was full often in Assize, 
By patent and by plain commissioun ; 
For his science and for his high renown. 
Of fees and robes had he many one ; 
So great a purchaser was nowhere known. 
All was fee simple to him in effect, 
His purchasing mighte not be infect.^ 
Nowhere so busy a man as he there nas ^ 
And yet he seemed busier than he was. 
In termes had he case(s) and doomes all ^ 
That from the time of King William were fall ; ^ 

1 wish ^ attacked (successfully) 

- parvis, church porch : at the ^ was not 

porch of St Paul's lawyers met ^ judgments 

to comult ^ befallen, occurred 



i68 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Ther-to ^ he could endite and make a thing, 
There coulde no wight pinch - at his writing ; 
And every statute knew he plain by rote. 
He rode but homely in a medley coat, 
Girt with a ceint ^ of silk, with barres smale ; 
Of his array tell I no longer tale." 

The Sergeant of Law was a man of great 
importance, a judge itinerant, and one who on 
his investiture was obliged to give a feast 
extending over seven days and costing a 




The Sergeant-at-Law 
{From the Ellesmere MS."). 

minimum of ^400. Yet this Sergeant evidently 
kept up his general practice. At the Parvis or 
great west porch of St Paul's he met clients and 
juniors for consultation after the closing of the 
courts at noon ; he was a great conveyancer (or 
''purchaser"), capable of drawing an unassailable 

' moreover "^ cavil ^ cincture, belt 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 169 

deed ; and he knew the laws and the cases which 
had established precedents for the previous three 
hundred years, from the reign of William the 
Conqueror. Yet he did not scorn the company 
of the modest pilgrims, nor did he wear any '* silk 
hood, or pelure ^ on his cloak," as was part of his 
official costume, but "rode but homely in a 
medley coat." Even more than in the case of 
the knight, the doctor, the merchant, and the 
monk, this mixing with a chance party of pilgrims 
shows how much a frank equality was practised 
amongst people of greatly different stations. 

His immediate travelling companion was a 
man of good position, one of that class which has 
left us the moated granges and manor-houses, 
and fine country residences built around spacious 
court-yards. The sort of man who kept open 
house, with sport always afoot, neighbours and 
friends constantly coming and going, full pantries, 
butteries, and larders, and a constant profusion of 
vegetables, herbs, and fruit from the deeply-tilled 
walled rarden, game from the chase, fish from 
the well-stocked ponds, and poultry from the 
deep-strawed barn-yard and the great dove-cote 
of brick or stone. The sort of man who 
presided at county meetings, tactfully arbitrated 
in local disputes, acted as judge or steward at 
the athletic contests, and led off the round dance 
when friends, tenantry, and servants thronged his 
hall at Christmastide. 

"A Frankeleyn was in his compan5^. 
White was his beard as is a dayesye,^ 
Of his complexioun he was sanguine,^ 
Well loved he by the morrow ^ a sop in wine ; 

^ rich fur 2 daisy ^ ruddy ^ in the morning 



I70 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

To liven in delight was ever his vvone,i 
For he was Epicurus' owene sone. 
That held opinioun that in plain delight 
Was verily felicity parfit.^ 
A householder, and that a great, was he : 
Saint Julian ^ was he in his countree ; 
His bread, his ale, was always after oon * 
A better envined ^ man was nowhere noon. 
Withoute bake meat was never his house, 
Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous 




The Franklin 
{From the Ellesmere MS.). 

It snowed in his house of meat and drink. 
Of alle dainties that men coulde think 
After the sundry seasons of the year, 
So changed he his meat and his soper ^ 
Full many a fat partridge had he in mew ^ 
And many a bream and many a luce ^ in stew ^^ 

^ custom ^' known 

"^ perfect "^ drinks 

•^ saint of hospitality ^ pens or cages 

* one quality, the best -^ pike 

•' supplied with wine ^" fish-ponds 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 171 

Woe was his cook but if ^ his sauce were 
Poynaunt ^ and sharp and ready all his gear. 
His table dormant ^ in his hall alway, 
Stood ready covered all the longe day. 
At sessiouns there was he lord and sire ; 
Full ofte time was he knight of the shire. 
An anlaas,* and a gipser ^ all of silk, 
Hung at his girdle, white as morning milk ; 
A sheriff had he been, and a countour.^ 
Was nowhere such a noble vavasour." '^ 

Perhaps to introduce more strikingly the 
differences in rank ; or possibly because no 
thought of incongruity occurred to him, Chaucer 
next introduces a group of five craftsmen, about 
whom a great deal might be said, 

" A Haberdasher, and a Carpenter, 
A Webbe,^ a Dyer, and a Tapycer,^ 
And they were all clothed in one livery 
Of a solemn and great fraternity ; 
Full fresh and new their gear apiked ^^ was ; 
Their knives were chased not with brass, 
But all with silver, wrought full clean and weel. 
Their girdles and their pouches every deel.^^ 
Well seemed each of them a fair burgeys ^- 
To sitten in a Guild-hall, on a deys.^^ 
Everich '^^ for the vvisdom that he kan ^^ 
Was shapely '^^ for to be an alderman. 
For cattle hadde they enough and rent i'' 
And eke their wives would it well assent ; 
And elles ^^ certain were they to blame. 
It is full fair to be y-clept ^^ Madame, 
And goon ^o to vigilies ^^ all before 
And have a mantle royally y-bore." 



1 unless 


^ accountant (in 


this 


IS dais 


'•^ piquant 


case, probably 


an 


14 each 


2 lying or sleeping ; i.e. it 


honorary auditor) 


•'■^ knew 


was not removed from 


'' landowner 




16 fitted 


its trestles and set aside 


^ weaver 




1'' income or profit 


after meals, as was the 


^ tapestry worker 




18 else 


general custom 


10 trimmed 




i« called 


^ dagger on a lace or cord 


1^ every whit 




''go 


^ pouch 


^■•^ burgess 




•^1 vigils 



172 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Probably these were not citizens of London, 
where they would have belonged to different 
guilds instead of to one ''solemn and great 
fraternity " ; and this idea is supported by the 
mention of their fitness to sit in guild-hall as 
aldermen. The great London Guilds, of which 
the weavers was the oldest, and the haber- 
dashers the most important in Chaucer's day, 
confined themselves to the interests of their own 
crafts. They controlled the apprentice system, 
appointed bailiffs to overlook the goods made by 
their members, and to punish bad craftsmen ; they 
forbade any working by candle-light, or on the 
great church festivals, as between Christmas Day 
and the day of Purification of the Blessed Virgin, 
and they condemned adulterated goods to be 
seized and burned, on the principle of the 
weavers' motto: — "Weave truth with trust." 
But there were other guilds, in smaller towns 
and cities, of which all good citizens could 
become members. A good example is the Guild 
of the Holy Cross, at Stratford-on-Avon, a town 
noted for weaving and glove-making. There, 
both men and women were eligible for member- 
ship, and the guild was helpful in all the affairs 
of life and death ; both temporal and spiritual. 
It kept a chapel, with priests and choristers, 
baptised the infants, taught the children, held 
feasts for the fostering of brotherhood, appointed 
an ale-taster to prevent adulteration of bread and 
beer, made peace between those who quarrelled, 
reinstated a brother who suffered by fire or other 
disaster, maintained the aged poor, buried the 
dead, and said masses for their souls. It made 
the local laws, managed the local markets and 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 



^7?> 



fairs, and its officers were the most important 
townsmen ; so that their wives were naturally 
''called Madam," took precedence at the religious 
services, and had their ''mantles royally y-bore" 
by the handsomest of their husbands' apprentices. 
In this connection we may well introduce the 
Wife of Bath, who also loved precedence in 




The Wife of Bath 
{From the Ellesmere MS.). 

church, but who secured it rather by her self- 
assertion and ill-temper than by acclaim of her 
fellow-citizens. 

" A good wife was there of beside Bathe, 
But she was somewhat deaf, and that was scathe ^ 
Of cloth making she hadde such a haunt ^ 
She passed them of Ypres and of Gaunt. 

1 unfortunate ^ connection 



174 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

In all the parish wife ne was there none 

That to the offering before her shoulde goon ; ^ 

And if there did, certain so wroth was she, 

That she was out of alle charity. 

Her coverchiefs full fine were of ground — ^ 

I durste swear they weyeden ^ ten pound — 

That on a Sunday were upon her head. 

Her hosen weren of fine scarlet red, 

Full straight y-tied, and shoes full moist and new 

Bold was her face, and fair, and red of hue. 

She was a worthy woman all her life, 

Husbands at churche door she hadde five, 

Withouten other company in youth — 

But their-of needeth not to speak as nowthe — ^ 

And thries had she been at Jerusalem ; 

She hadde passed many a strange stream : 

At Rome she hadde been and at Boloigne,^ 

In Galice at Saint James,^ and at Coloigne,^ 

She koude ^ much of wandering by the way. 

Gat-toothed ^ was she, soothly i^ for to say. 

Upon an ambler easily she sat, 

Y-wimpled well, and on her head a hat 

As broad as is a buckler or a targe ; ^^ 

A foot mantel about her hippes large. 

And on her feet a pair of spurres sharp. 

In fellowship well could she laugh and carp ; 

Of remedies of love she knew per chance, 

For she koude ^'^ of that art the olde dance." 

It will be noted that this worthy lady is 
described as of '* beside " Bath, a dweller in some 
neighbouring village, which, perhaps, accounts for 
her success in securing precedence at church. 
The extent of her wanderings, combined with 
the fact that her cloth surpassed that of the noted 

1 go ' shrine of the three Kings of the 

- ingrained dye East 

^ weighed ^ knew 

4 now ^ goat-toothed ; z>. lascivious 

^ famous for an image of the ^^ truly 

Virgin " shield 

^ of Compostella, in Galicia ^- knew 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 175 

foreign weavers, suggests that she was an 
organiser and director of labour rather than a 
working artificer, as were the weaver, dyer, 
tapiser, and others of the pilgrim band. 

The reference to her five husbands *'at 
church door," recalls a time when wedding 
services began outside the church, and Chaucer 
makes her state the fact in her prologue, where 
she suggests that she was first married at 
twelve years old : — 

" For, lordings, since I twelve year was of age ; — 
Husbands at churche door I have had five." 

And although she was now a widow she was 
prepared to marry again, and made no secret of 
the fact : — 

** Welcome the sixte, when that ever he shall 

When mine husband is from the world y-gone, 
Some Christian man shall wedde me anon." 

The character she gives herself is much worse 
than that given by Chaucer in the original 
prologue. She tells how three of her husbands 
were good, and rich, and old ; they loved her 
dearly, wherefore she fiouted them in every 
way : — 

^' They had me given their land and their treasure, 
Me needed not do lonsrer diligence 
To win their love, or do them reverence ; 
They loved me so well, by God above, 
That I ne tolde ^ no deyntee - of their love ! 
A wise woman will set her, ever in oon,^ 
To get their love there as she hath noon ; * 

1 accounted '^ pleasure ' always ^ none 



176 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

But since I had them wholly in my hand, 
And since they had me given all their land, 
What should I taken heed them for to please, 
But ^ it were for my profit and mine ease. 
I set them so a-worke by my fey 
That many a night they sungen ' well-away ! ' 
The bacon was not fetched for them I trow 
That some men have in Essex at Dunmow." 

It is quite evident that she would be no fit 
competitor for the Dunmow flitch, given to 
married couples who have lived a year together 
without unpleasantness. In her advice to wives, 
to browbeat and deceive their husbands, she 
says — 

" For half so boldely can there no man 
Sweare and lye as a woman can." 

She worried her three old husbands into the 
grave while she was yet young. 

" My fourthe husband was a revelour ^ 
That is to say, he had a paramour 
And I was young and full of ragerye,*^ 
Stubborn and strong, and jolly as a pie.^ 
Well could I dance to a harpe smale, 
And sing, y-wis, as any nightingale, 
When I had drunk a daught of sweete wine." 

To revenge the unfaithfulness of this husband, 
she gave free rein to her mirth — 

" I made him of the same wood a cross 
Not of my body in no foul manere, 
But certainly I made folk such cheer, 
That in his owen grease I made him fry 
For anger and for very jealously. 
By God, on earth I was his purgatory 
For which I hope jiis soule be in glory ! 

^ unless - rev^eller ^ wantonness "* magpie 




pilgrims' stairs to shrine, north side of choir. 

Chapel of St Andrew (and Reliquary) on left. 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 177 

He died when I came from Jerusalem 
And lith i y-grave ^ under the roode beam 

It nys 2 but waste to bury him preciously 
Let him fare well, God give his soule rest, 
He is now in his grave and in his chest ^ ! " 

Her fifth husband, whom she had courted while 
her fourth stili lived, and whom she loved, for 
very contrariety, because he loved her not, proved 
a tyrant. He bade her stay at home, telling her 
old Roman stories and Bible examples, and often 
quoting : 

" Whoso that buildeth his house all of sallows,^ 
And pricketh^ his bUnde horse over the fallows, 
And sufFereth his wife to go seeking hallows,^ 
Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows." 

She tore three leaves out of one of the books in 
which he was always reading these stories, and 
knocked him into the fire, whereupon he struck 
her on the head, causing her to faint, and eventu- 
ally causing deafness. When she recovered from 
her swoon, she found him lamenting her supposed 
death, feigned to make up the quarrel, but bit 
him severely on the cheek ;— after which they 
lived happily until his death. 

This bold, handsome, gat-toothed, shameless 
woman is one of the strongest characters drawn 
by Chaucer. Resuming the tale of his other 
pilgrims, however, we meet the Cook : — 

" A cook they hadde with them for the nonce, 
To boil the chickens with the marrow-bones. 
And poudre-marchant ^ tart and galyngale » 
Well could he know a draught of London ale ; 

1 lyeth 

2 buried 
^ is not 



^ coffin 
•'"' willows 
6 spurreth 


' shrines 

^ a flavouring 

9 a sweet root 




M 



178 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

He coulde roast and seethe and boil and fry, 

Maaken mortreux ^ and well bake a pie 

But great harm was it, as it thoughte me 

That on his shin a mormal ^ hadde he. 

For blankmanger,^ that made he with the best." 

What little more we know of him, that he was 
a o^ross, vulo^ar, drunken boor, will be seen in the 




The Cook 
{From the Ellesmere MS.). 



chapters dealing with the tales. After him the 
Shipman is introduced, about whom something 
has been said, and next comes the Doctor of 
Physic : — 

" With us there was a Doctor of Physic ; 
In all this world ne was there none him like, 
To speak of physic and of surgery ; 
For he was grounded in astronomy. 



a stew 



'^ a gan-g^renous wound 



3bl 



anc-mange 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 



179 



He kept his patient a full great deal 

In houres ^ by his magic natureel. 

Well could he fortunen ^ the ascendent 

Of his images ^ for his patient. 

He knew the cause of every maladye, 

Were it of heat, or cold, or moist, or dry 

And where they engendered and of what humour ; 

He was a very perfect practisour.^ 




The Doctor of Physic 
{From ike Ellesmere MS.). 



The cause y-known, and of his harm the root, 
Anon he gave the sicke man his boote.^ 
Full ready had he his apothecaries 
To send him drugges and his lectuaries,^ 
For each of them made other for to win, 
Their friendship was not newe to begin. 



^ astrological hours 

2 foretell 

^ astrological signs 



* practitioner 

^ medicine 



medicated syrups and confections 



i8o CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Well knew he the olde ^sculapius 
And Dioscorides and eke Rufus, 
Old Hippocras, Haly and Galyen, 
Serapion, Razis and Avycen, 
Averrois, Damascene and Constantine 
Bernard and Gatesden and Gilbertine. 
Of his diete measurable ^ was he 
For it was of no superfluity, 
But of great nourishing and digestible. 
His study was but little on the Bible. 
In sanguine ^ and in pers ^ he clad was all, 
Lined with taffeta and with sendal.^ 
And yet he was but easy of dispence,^ 
He kepte what he won in pestilence. 
For gold in physic is a cordial 
Therefore he loved gold in special." 

To go into all the vistas opened up by this 
description would take more space than can be 
spared. Suffice it to say that this mention of the 
pestilence and one or two other brief and quite 
casual references are all that Chaucer gives to the 
greatest and most striking events of his day, those 
great recurrences of " the plague," which in a short 
time had swept away half the population of the 
kingdom. In London alone, his own city, 50,000 
people had been buried (more than half the popu- 
lation) during 1348-9 in the special plague 
cemetery opened in Spitalcroft, and there had 
been other terrible visitations in 1361 and 1369. 

The next layman mentioned is a poor man, 
brother of the Poor Parson of a Town. 

" With him there was a Plowman, was his brother, 
That had y-laid of dung full many a fother ^ 
A true swynker '' and a good was he, 
Living in peace and perfect charity 

^ moderate ^ blue ^ a small spender "^ labourer 

'^ red * a fine silk cloth ^ cartload 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS i8i 

God loved he best with all his whole heart, 
At alle times though him gamed ^ or smart,^ 
And then his neighebore right as himselve. 
He woulde thresh and thereto ditch and delve, 
For Christes sake, for every poore wight, 
Withouten hire, if it lay in his might. 
His tythes paide he full fair and well, 
Both of his proper swynk ^ and his cattel. 
In a tabard he rode, upon a mare." 

Like his brother the Parson, he is lovingly 
touched by Chaucer, and one of the very few who 
told no tale or whose tale has not been preserved. 
Every line shows him to be a simple, honest, 
unpretentious man. Even the last word adds a 
finishing touch well in keeping with the sketch, 
for in those days none but a very poor man would 
ride a mare. 

" The Miller was a stout carl for the nonce 
Full big was he of brawn and eke of bones ; 
That proved * well, for over~al, there he came ^ 
At wrestling he would have away the ram.^ 
He was short-shouldered, broad, a thicke knarrej 
There was no door he could not heave off harre,^ 
Or break it at a running of his head. 
His beard, as any sow or fox, was red 
And thereto^ broad, as though it were a spade. 
Upon the cope i® right of his nose he had 
A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs, 
Red as the bristles of a sowes ears ; 
His nose thirles ^^ blacke were and wide ; 
A sword and buckler bare he by his side ; 
His mouth as wide was as a great furneys,!^ 
He was a janglere ^^ and a goliardeys,i* 
And that was most of sin and harlotries. 
Well could he stealen corn and tole thries ^^ 



1 was gay ^ prize for the wrestling ^^ nostrils 

••^suffeTed 7 gnarled '! f^^^i^c^ . , , 

,. labour ^ hinge ^ smging minstrel 

-» had been tested '' moreover \\ nbald jester 

s wherever he came ^"^ top '' thrice 



i82 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

And yet he had a thumb of gold pardee. 
A white coat and a blue hood weared he. 
A baggepipe well could he blow and soun, 
And therewithal he brought us out of town," 

The Miller is rough and rude ; he tells his 
tale without request and in spite of the host's 




The Miller 
(^From the EUesinere MS.). 



urging him to wait. He admits that he is druni' 
— '' I know it by my sound," but bids them blame 
the ale and not himself. 

He quarrels with the Reve, as we shall see 
anon, and he is dishonest, with the proverbial 
heavy thumb to weigh his own toll of the grist, 
yet he is a good-natured boor who plays them out 
of town with his pipes. 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 183 

The Reve, evidently intended from the first 
as a counter to the Miller, is, like him, a thief. 
By trade a carpenter, he has become the manager 
or bailiff to some great landowner ; and as the 
saying goes in the north — "it's a poor bailiff 
who has a bad day when his lord has a good 
un." If he has not '^ a thumb of gold," he makes 




The Reeve 
{From the Ellesmere MS.'). 



a profit here and there, and on the principle of 
''set a thief to catch a thief," he knows all the 
tricks and evasions of the underlings. His slim, 
starved physique contrasts with the brawny bulk 
of the Miller, and his wit supplies the place of 
force ; yet he has not wit enough to restrain his 
temper and his tongue when he imagines the 
Miller is taunting him through his tale of a 



i84 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

carpenter. This we shall see In a later chapter, 
meanwhile— Chaucer s picture of the Reve :— 

" The Reve was a slender choleric man, 
His beard was shave as near as ever he can ; 
His hair was by his eares round y-shorn, 
His top was docked Hke a priest biforn,i 
-bul longe were his legges and full lean, 

^xr 1, ^ ^^^^' ^^^^^ ^^s "o calf y-seen. 
Well could he keep a garner and a bin, 

Ar ^y^i ^^^ "° auditor could on him win. 
Well knew he by the drought and by the rain 
1 he yielding of his seed and of his grain. 
His lordes sheep, his neat,^ his dayerye ^ 
His swine his hors,4 his stoor,^ and his poultrye, 
Was wholly in this Reves governing. 
And by his covenant gave the reckoning 
bmce that his lord was twenty year of age : 
there could no man bring him in arrearage. 
There nas<^ bailiff, nor herd, nor other hine / 
1 hat he ne knew his sleight ^ and his covyne • '' 
1 hey were adread of him as of the death 
His dwelling was full fair upon a heath. 
With greene trees y-shadowed was his place. 
He coulde better than his lord purchase. 

i^ull rich he was a stored privily, 

His lord could he pleasen subtilly 

To give and lend him of his owen good 

And have a thank and get a gown and hood. 

in youth he learned had a good myster lo 

He was a well good wright, a carpenter.' 

Ihis Reve sat upon a full good stot,ii 

That was all pomelyi2 grey and highte is Scot • 

A long surcoat of pers i^ upon he hade. 

And by his side he bare a rusty blade. 

Of Norfolk was this Reve of which I tell 

Beside a town men clepen i^ Baldeswell. ' 

lucked he was as is a friar, about 

And ever he rode the hindmost of our rout." 
l^^ front s^asnot n ^^u 

^^ 'Zy'st^l^' I "^'^t'^'^ ^^b-- '' "apple 

fatting cattle ^o ^^3,,,.^. . • ^^ ^^^^^.^^^^^ ^, ^ue 




"THE CHAIR OF ST AUGUSTINE," CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. 

In which the Archbishops are enthroned. 



CHAPTER IX 

Chaucer's pilgrims : men of the church 

The immense relative importance of the Church 
and the religious houses in the fourteenth century 
is very difficult to appreciate, unless one has made 
a special and a careful study of the subject. In 
Chaucer's company of thirty-one persons, we find 
no less than twelve attached to religion, and most 
of them occupying their full share of the attention 
of their companions and of the reader. In this, 
as in so many other cases, our author fairly reflects 
the conditions of the time ; and if we add to the 
church-folk going on pilgrimage, those who 
received the pilgrims at the various "hallows " on 
their way, we shall gain some idea of how large 
loomed the Church, still ; although in too many 
cases the faith of priests and people alike was 
undermined and rotten. Too many of the monks, 
bishops, priests, pardoners, and others were lost 
in dead^ formalism, replacing faith and earnestness 
by brilliant ritual and meaningless repetition, or 
had sunk into luxury, idleness, covetousness, and 
licentiousness. Too many of the people had lost 
all idea of God, and had replaced their religion by 
a selfish truckling and chaffering with the Lord or 
His saints, to heal their bodies, prosper their 



i86 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

business, or save their souls— for a small con- 
sideration. With others, the faith had become a 
sort of mumbo-jumbo superstition, a propitiation 
of the deity with presents ; a dabbling in the 
excitement of holy conjuring-entertainments and 
wonder-workings. Yet there was faith in the 
land. There were true, devoted sons of the 
Church, and earnest, self-denying brothers of the 




The Prioress 
{From the EUesmere MS.^. 

people, and if they were less obtrusive than those 
who thrust with side and with shoulder for place 
and power, their lives were sweet and pure, help- 
ful and inspiring. If we see less of them than of 
the baser breed, it is only in accordance with the 
observation, that ''the evil that men do lives 
after them ; the good, is oft interred with their 
bones." 

The first of the ''religious" introduced by 
Chaucer is the Prioress, a worthy woman, who 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 187 

evidently thought much of the rules of courtesy 
and manners. In her office as head of a 
priory of nuns she needed much judgment and 
discretion, firmness, sense of order, and capacity 
for management. The success of the house, the 
comfort and religious progress of the sisters, and 
the entertainment of strangers and pilgrims would 
largely depend upon her. 

^' There also was a nun, a prioress, 
That of her smiHng was full simple and coy ; 
Her greatest oath was but by saint Eloy 
And she was cleped ^ madame Eglantine. 
Full well she sung the service divine, 
Entuned in her nose full seemely, 
And French she spake full fair and fetisly ^ 
After the school of Stratford-atte-Bow, 
For French of Paris was to her unknow. 
At mete well y-taught was she withal, 
She let no morsel from her lippes fall, 
Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep. 
Well could she carry a morsel and well keep, 
Thaat no drop ne fell upon her breast. 
In courtesy was set full muchel her leste.^ 
Her over-lippe wiped she so clean. 
That in her cup there was no ferthyng * seen 
Of grease, when she drunken had her draught 
Full seemely after her meat she raughte,^ 
And silkerly ^ she was of great disport "^ 
And full pleasant and amiable of port, 
And pained ^ her to counterfeit^ cheere ^ 
Of Court, and be estately of mannere, 
And to be holden digne ^^ of reverence. 
But for to speaken of her conscience. 
She was so charitable and so pitous ^^ 
She woulde weep if that she saw a mouse 
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled. 
Of smalle houndes had she that she fed 

1 called ^ crumb or scrap ^ took pains 

2 gracefully ^ reached ^ manners 

3 her bent was strongly ^ certainly ^° worthy 

toward courtesy ' deportment ^^ sympathet: 



;ic 



i88 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

With roasted flesh, or milk and wastel breed ; ^ 

But sore wept she if one of them were dede, 

Or if men smote it with a yerde ^ smerte ; ^ 

And all was conscience and tender heart. 

Full seemely her wimple pinched was ; 

Her nose trelys,* her eyen ^ grey as glass, 

Her mouth full small and there-to soft and red ; 

But sikerly ^ she had a fair forehead : 

It was almost a spanne broad I trow 

For, hardily,^ she was not undergrow.^ 

Full fetys ^ was her cloak as T was 'ware ; 

Of small coral about her arm she bare 

A pair of beades,^^ gauded all with green, 

And thereto hung a brooch of gold full sheen, 

On which there was first writ a crowned A, 

And after Amor Vincit omnia. 

Another nunne with her hadde she 

That was her Chapeleyne, and Priestes three." 

In the description there are one or two puzzling 
points. It seems uncertain whether ''entuned in 
her nose " was intended as a compliment or not ; 
but in view of the rest of the picture we may 
fairly safely say that the poet referred to some 
form of intoning which was considered particu- 
larly correct. French of Stratford-at-Bow, 
again, though often quoted in sarcastic sense, 
was probably the accent taught in the Benedictine 
nunnery of Stratford-at-Bow, and recognised as 
the most refined form in a country where French 
was still the court language. Her manners in 
eating were the best, in a time when forks were 
unknown, when sippits of bread were used for 
conveying sauce and gravy to the mouth, and 
when the highest refinement in a book of 



^ waste bread ^ eyes ^ under-sized 

'^ stick ^ certainly '^ g^raceful 

- smartly "^ truly ^^ a rosary 
■* well-shaped 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 



189 



courtesy was to instruct that in carving, one 
should 
" Set never on fish nor flesh, beast nor fowl, truly 

More than two fingers and a thumb, for that is courtesy. 

Touch never with your right hand no manner meat surely." 




The Second Nun 
(jFrom the Ellesmere MSJ). 

Even her oath, ''by saint Eloy," was a 
refinement, like the rest of her doings, and 
possibly it was not an oath at all, but rather an 
exclamation directed to her horse. For St 
Eloy is a patron of muleteers and horsemen, who 
urge their beasts and invoke their patron by the 
cry of Eloy! Eloy! The carter in the Friar's 
tale, when his horses clear the slough, cries to 
one of them, '' I pray God save thee, and sainte 



I90 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Loy." The attendant nun was in accordance 
with the rules, which forbade a prioress to go 
anywhere, or even to see a man in her own priory 
without the attendance of a nun, but the describ- 
ing of this lady as a Chapeleyn is a puzzle. 




The Nun's Priest 

(^From the Ellesmere MS.). 

The Monk, a complete contrast, is drawn with 
just as much skill as is the modest, mincing Nun :— 
'' A Monk there was, a fair for the maistrie, 
An outrider, that loved venerie : i 
A manly man, to be an abbot able. 
Full many a dainty horse had he in stable, 
And when he rode men might his bridle hear 
Gyynghng2 in a whistling wind as clear, 
And eke as loud, as doth the chapel bell. 
There as this lord was keeper of the cell. 
The rule of saint Maure ^ or of saint Beneit,* 
Because that it was old and somewhat streit,^ 

\ ^^"^ j'^. r . . V'ligling ^ prior under St Benedict 

* iSenedict, tounder of the Benedictines ^ ^ix\^i 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 



191 



This ilke Monk let olde thiiiges pace^ 
And held after the newe world the space. 
He gave not of 2 that text a pulled ^ hen 
That saith that hunters be not holy men, 
Nor that a Monk when he is recchelees ^ 
Is likened to a fish that is waterlees; 




The Monk 
(J^rom the Ellesmere MS."). 

That is to say, a Monk out of his cloister. 

But thilke ^ text held he not worth an oyster ; 

And I said his opinion was good. 

What 6 should he study and make himselven wood,^ 

Upon a book in cloister alway to poure, 

Or swynken ^ with his handes and labour, 



go 
2 cared not for 
^ strangled 
4 reckless :— but the 
not quite clear 



meaning is 



5 this same 
^ why 
■^ mad 
8 toil 



192 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

As Austyn i bids ? how shall the world be served ? 

Let Austyn have his swynk - to him reserved. 

Therefore he was a prikasour ^ aright ; 

Greyhounds he had, as swift as fowl in flight ; 

Of priking * and of hunting for the hare 

Was all his lust,^ for no cost would he spare. 

I saw his sleeves y-purfiled ^ at the hand 
With grys/ and that the finest of the land ; 

And for to fast'n his hood under his chin 
He had of gold y-wrought a full curious pin, 
i\ love-knot in the greater end there was. 
His head was bald that shone as any glass, 
And eke his face as he had been anoint. 
He was a lord full fat and in good point ^ 
His eyen ^ stepe lo and rolHng in his head, 
That steamed as a furnace of a lead ; 
His bootes supple, his horse in great estate. 
Now certainly he was a fair prelate. 
He was not pale, as a forpyned ^ ghost : 
A fat swan loved he best of any roast ; 
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry." 

This is the prototype of the " sporting parson," 
whose practice has always seemed somewhat 
more lax than his preaching or profession, but 
for whom the Englishman has an amused 
toleration, if not actually a sneaking affection. 
His ostentation in dress and living, which 
brought the reproach of many sincere Christians, 
was not by any means condoned by the Church, 
for at council after council it was reproved. In 
London in 1342, and in York in 1367, complaints 
were made that many monks and bishops wore 
clothing "fit rather for knights than for clerks," 
that they wore long beards, shamelessly short 
tunics, and coats, "which did not come down to 

^ St Augustine ■' fancy » eyes 

^toil « edged I'Mjnglit 

^ spurrer of horses '^ grey fur " starved 

^ hard riding » well equipped 




THE GUESTEN HALL, WINCHESTER. 

Vfhere Pilgrims were lodged. 




ENTRANCE TO THE ABBOT S LODGING (^NOW THE DEANERY), WINCHESTER. 
Where Food was distributed to Pilgrims. 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 193 

the middle of the legs, or even cover the knees " ; 
that they carried ornamented knives as large as 
swords, finger-rings, expensive belts, purses and 
bags, ornamented shoes and brilliant-coloured 
chequered boots, and luxurious appointments 
generally. Many sumptuary laws were laid 
down, but monks who made light of the rule 
of Austyn (St Augustine) probably took little 
heed of the orders of a church council. 

The reference to a fat swan recalls the fact 
that our country had then great extent of marsh 
and swamp land, and swans bred in countless 
thousands. In Landseer's " Bolton Abbey in 
the Olden Time," a swan is amongst the game 
brought in by the forester, and in Stow, we find 
an account of the provision for a dinner at the 
investiture of a sergeant-at-law, which includes 
twenty-five beeves, fifty veals (calves), a hundred 
sheep, a hundred and twenty-five swine and 
boars, and a hundred and seventy swans. 

" A Friar there was, a wanton and a merry 
A lymytour,! a full solempne ^ man, 
In all the orders four ^ is none that kan ^ 
So much of dalliance and of fair language ; 
He hadde made full many a marriage 
Of younge women at his owen cost : 
Unto his order he was a noble post,^ 
Full well beloved and familier was he 
With franklins over all in his countree ; 
And eke with worthy women of the town, 
For he had power of confessioun, 
As said himself, more than a curat, 
For of his order he was licenciat. 
Full sweetly heard he his confessioun 
And pleasant was his absolutioun 



^ limiter 


•" the orders of Augustines, 


'* knows 


2 solemn ; in the sense of 


Carmelites, Domini- 


■' support 


important 


cans, and Franciscans 





194 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

He was an easy man to give penance 
There as he wist ^ to have a good pittance ; 
For unto a poor order for to give 
Is signe that a man is well y-shrive ; ^ 
For if he gave, he durste make avaunt ^ 
He wiste "^ that a man was repentaunt : 
For many a man so hard is of his heart 
He may not weep although he sore smart, 
Therefore instead of weeping and prayeres 
Men might give silver to the poore freres. 




The Friar 
(^From the Ellesmere MS^, 

His tippet was ay farsed -^ full of knives 
And pinnes for to given younge wives ; 
And certainly he had a merry note ; 
Well could he sing and playen on a rote^ 
Of yeddings "^ he bare outrely ^ the pris -^ 
His necke white was as the flower-de-lys. 
Thereto 1^ he strong was as a champioun. 
He knew the taverns well in all the town 
And every hostiler and tappestere^^ 
Bet ^2 than a lazar ^^ or a beggestere ; ^^ 



^ expected 


6 little harp 


2 shriven— repented 


' proverbs 


" boast 


^ utterly 


^ knew 


^ appreciation 


5 stuffed (a cook's term) 


^'^ moreover 



11 tapster 

12 better 
1'^ leper 
i^ beggar 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 195 

For unto such a worthy man as he 
Accorded not, as by his facultee, 
To have with sike ^ lazars acquaintaunce ; 
It is not honest, it may not avaunce^ 
Foor to dealen with no such poraille ; ^ 
But all with rich and sellers of vitaille.'^ 
And over all, ther as ^ profit should arise, 
Courteous he was and lowly of servyse,^ 
There nas ^ no man nowhere so virtuous. 
He was the beste beggar in his house, 
For though a widow hadde not a sho, 
So pleasant was his In prindpio^ 
Yet would he have a farthing ere he went : 
His purchase was well better than his rent. 
And rage he could, as it were right a whelp. 
In love-days^ there could he muchel help. 
For there he was not like a cloisterer 
With threadbare cope,'^ as is a poor scholer, 
But he was like a master, or a pope ; 
Of double worsted was his semi-cope, ^^ 
That rounded as a bell out of the press. 
Somewhat he lisped for his wantonness. 
To make his English sweet upon his tongue. 
And in his harping, when that he had sung, 
His eyen ^^ tv/inkled in his head aright 
As do the starres on a frosty night. 
This worthy lymytour^^ ^^g clept^^ Huberd." 

This character is less known to us in song 
and story than is the jovial monk, or even the 
friar who carefully stayed in his own religious 
establishment. The limiter was a travelling father 
confessor, whose ministrations were ''limited" to 
a definite district, and who was attached to a 
religious house. He was supposed to beg for his 
friary, and Chaucer tells us what a good beggar 

^ cape 

^° short cape 
^^ eyes 
^^ limiter 
13 called 



^ such 


"' was not 


2 benefit 


^ da3's (and especially 


•■^ poor folk 


feasts) for making 


^ victuals 


friends of those who 


5 in cases v^here 


had been at enmity 


^ helpfulness 





196 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

this one was. One line on this point is not clear, 
'* his purchase was well better than his rent," — 
which has been thought to mean that people 
gladly gave him money to go away, and thus to 
save the cost of entertaining him ; or, alterna- 
tively, that the amount he collected was consider- 
ably more than he paid over to the brethren. As 
some of these limit-rounds were ''farmed" or 
taken on contract by the limiters, the latter 
explanation is possible without any reflection on 




The Summoner 
(^From the Ellesmere MS.'). 

the friar's honesty. He was a man of the world, 
condoning sin, selling easy penance for good 
pittance, and is one of the many signs of the 
canker which had eaten to the heart of the Church, 
and which has done so in every religion in times 
of prosperity. 

But if the Monk and the Friar represented 
luxury and laxity, what shall be said of the 
Summoner and the Pardoner, men of the worst 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 197 

possible lives, who used the cloak of the Church 
for doings which would not have been tolerated in 
professed men of the world. 

'' A Summoner was there with us in that place, 
That had a fire-red cherubynnes face, 
For sawcefleem ^ he was, with eyen ^ narrow. 
As hot he was, and lecherous, as a sparrow, 
With scaled " browes black, and piled ^ beard 
Of his visaage children were afeard. 
There nas ^ quick-silver, litharge nor brimstone, 
Borax, ceruce,*^ nor oil of Tartar known. 
Nor ointement that woulde cleanse and bite, 
That hirn might helpen of the whelkes white. 
Nor of the knobbes sitting on his cheeks. 
Well loved he garlick, onions and eke leeks, 
And for to drinken strong wine, red as blood ; 
Then would he speak, and cry as he were wood." 
And when that he well drunken had the wine, 
Then would he speak no worde but Latyn. 
A fewe termes had he, two or three. 
That he had learned out of some decree, — 
No wonder is, he heard it all the day, 
And eke ye knowen well how that a jay 
Can clepen IVatfe ^ as well as can the pope. 
But whoso could in other thing him grope, 
Then had he spent all his philosophy ; 
Ay qiiestio quid juris would he cry. 
He was a gentle harlot and a kind ; 
A better fellow shoulde men not find. 
He woulde suffer, for a quart of wine, 
A good fellow to have his concubine 
A twelve-month, and excuse him atte full ; 
And privily a finch eke could he pull ; ^ 
And if he found owher ^^ a good felawe, 
He woulde teachen him to have no awe, 
In such case, of the Archedeacon's curse, 
But if a manne's soul were in his purse ; 

' pimpled ^ cerate — white lead 

2 eyes ^ mad 

^ scabby ^ shout Wat ! 

^ close-cropped '^ rob a simpleton 

^ was not ^'^ anywhere 



198 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

For in his purse he should y-punished be ; 

' Purse is the Archedeacon's hell,' said he, 

But well I wot ^ he lied right indeed, 

Of cursing ought each guilty man him dread, 

For curse will slay, — right as assoiling ^ saveth ; 

And also war^ him of a Sigmficavit^ 

In danger had he at his owen guise ^ 

The younge girles ^ of the diocese, 

He knew their counsel, and was all their reed ^ 

A garland had he set upon his head, 

As great as it were for an ale stake ; ^ 

A buckler had he made him of a cake." 

This drunken blackoruard, with his o^arland of 
flowers above his pimply, fat face, with cheeks 
swelled like those of a " cherubynne " on a tomb- 
stone, was a minor officer of an archdeacon's 
court, appointed to deal with licentiousness, and 
serving himself at the cost of both court and 
offenders. By making himself familiar with the 
" finches " or greenhorns of his district, and acting 
as adviser to the silly girls (which in those days 
meant young men as well as young women), he 
put himself in the position to extort blackmail 
for failing to execute fictitious summonses ; and 
when the blackmail ceased', he would give a hint 
to some approver, on whose evidence the reckless 
youngsters would be summoned and punished. 
In the frailties of the clerics, who were vowed to 
celibate lives, these summoners found many 
chances for profit, and their methods are elabor- 
ated in the Friar's tale, which was rudely inter- 
rupted and bitterly resented by the Summoner in 

1 know '^ young folk of both sexes 

^ absolution "' adviser 

^ beware ^ beer-house ; the garland was 
* warrant for imprisonment of as large as the " bush " used 

an excommunicated person as a sign. 



manner 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 199 

the party. The Friar tells us that the archdeacon 
punished fornication, witchcraft, baudery, defama- 
tion, adultery, absence from sacrament, usury, 
simony, and *'many another manner crime"; he 
was hardest upon evil livers and those who paid 
less than their just tithes. 

" He had a summoner ready to his hand ; 
A slyer boy was none in Engeland ; 
For subtilly he had his espialle ^ 
That taughte him wheer him might avail. 

. . though this summoner be wood ^ as a hare, 
To tell his harlotry I will not spare, 
For we be out of his correction, 
They have of us no jurisdicti6n. 

This false thief, this summoner, quoth the Friar, 

Had always baudes ready to his hand, 

As any hawk to lure in Engeland, 

They told him all the secree^ that they knew, 

For their acquaintance was not come of new ; 

They weren his approvers privily. 

He took himself a great profit thereby ; 

His master knew not always what he wan.^ 

Withouten mandement,^ a lewed'^ man 

He coulde somne,^ on pain of Christe's curse 

And they were glad to iille well his purse. 

He had eke wenches at his retinue ^ 
That whether that sir^ Robert, or sir» Hugh, 
Or Jack, or Rauf, or whoso that it were 
That lay by them, they told it in his ear. 
Thus was the wench and he of one assent, 
And he would fetch a feigned mandement, 
And summon them to the chapter bothe two 
And pilP^ the man, and let the wenche go." 

1 spies ^ order '^ sir, the title for a priest, 

2 j^ad ^ ignorant not for a knight 
=^ private information ' summon ^° rob 

4 ^,on '^ retained by him 



200 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

He knew of more bribery and corruption than 
could be told in two years. 

" For in this world nys ^ dogge for the bow 
That can a hurt deer from a whole y-know 
Bet 2 than this summoner knew a sly lecchour ^ 
Or an avowtier'^ or a paramour." 

The honest men in the Church did all in their 
power to check such men as these ; but in an 
unlettered, loosely-organised society the subtle, 
unscrupulous man could long flourish without 
material hindrance ; especially when the king and 
the Church were at variance as to their mutual 
spheres of jurisdiction, and when the archdeacons 
depended upon fines for a material part of their 
income. The people were too ignorant or too 
terrified to complain effectively, and the arch- 
deacons were liable to think the officer who 
brought most cases and extorted most fines was 
worthy of praise, — without inquiring whether his 
private cases and bribes were in proportion to the 
cases in court. So the Summoner went his evil 
way with little check ; and said to the devil, as in 
the Friar's tale : — 

'* Now, brother ... I you pray, 
Teach me, while that we riden by the way, — 

Some subtlety, and tell me faithfully 
In my office how I may moste win, 
And spare not for conscience nor sin. 
But as my brother tell me how do ye. 

Now by my trothe, brother dear, said he (the fiend) 
As I shall tellen thee a faithful tale, 
My wages be full straighte and full smale ; ^ 

^ is not •' gross sensualist -^ small 

'^ better ^ adulterer 




PART OF ROOF OF GUESTEN HALL, WINCHESTER. 

The Floor and the Brick IVall {both modern) divide the old dngle Hall into two Buildings 

of two Sttr-ys. 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 201 

My lord is hard to me, and dangerous, 
Aand mine office is full laborous ; 
And therefore by extortidns I live ; 
Forsooth, I take all that men will me give, 
Algate ^ by sleighte, or by violence. 

Now certes, quoth this Summoner, so fare I ; 
I spare not to taken God it wot,^ 
But if ^ it be too heavy or too hot, 
What I may get in conseil ^ privily ; 
No manner conscience of that have I ; 
Nere ^ my extortion I might not liven 
Nor of such japes ^ will I not be shriven." 

From this professional reprover of sin, v^ho 
shoves no surprise or horror when he finds he is 
riding with a fiend from hell, let us turn to his 
boon companion, a rascal even more degraded : 
for while the Summoner resents the description 
given of, and the opinions ascribed to his class, 
the Pardoner glories in his shame and jests about 
his deceptions.' While the Summoner tells a 
vulgar tale, the Pardoner tells a well-managed 
story with an excellent moral, then shows his 
insincerity by offering (for a consideration) to 
show the very relics which he has confessed to be 
rank frauds. 

As these inseparables ride side by side, the 
Pardoner sings a song of which all trace has been 
lost, but which was probably a popular love-song 
of the day ; and his thin goat's voice is accom- 
panied by the deep bass burden of the Summoner. 

" With him there rode a gentle Pardoner 
Of Rouncevale, his friend and his compeer, 
That straight was comen fro the court of Rome 
Full loud he sung Come hither^ love^ to me ! 

1 in all ways ^ unless ^ were it not 

■^ knows ^ by deception '' cajoleries 



202 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

This Summoner bare to hirn a stiff burdoun ^ 
Was never trump of half so great a soun. 
The Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax 
But smooth it hung as doth a strike of flax ; 
By ounces 2 hung his lockes that he had, 
And therewith he his shoulders overspread. 
But thin it lay, by colpons ^ one and one 
But hood, for jollity, ne wered he none, 
For it was trussed up in his wallet 
Him thought he rode all of the newe jet ; ^ 




The Pardoner 
{From the Ellesmere MS,). 

Dishevelled, save his cap, he rode all bare. 
Such glaring eyen ^ had he as a hare, 
A vernicle ^ had he sewed upon his cap ; 
His wallet lay before him in his lap 
Bret-full^ of pardon, come from Rome all hot. 
A voice he had as small as hath a goat ; 

^ the " true image," a copy of the 



^ burden or accompaniment 
'•^ shreds 
^ strips 
■* style 

^ eyes 



py 

handkerchief of St Veronica, 
worn by pilgrims to her shrine 
' full to bursting 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 203 

No beard had he, nor never shoulde have, 
As smooth it was as it were late y-shave ; 
I trow he were a gelding or a mare. 
But of his craft, from Berwick unto Ware 
Ne was there such another Pardoner, 
For in his male ^ he had a pillow-beer,- 
Which that, he saide, was our lady's veil ; 
He said he had a gobbet^ of the sail 
That Sainte Peter had when that he went 
Upon the sea, till Jesus Christ him hente.^ 
He had a cross of latten,^ full of stones, 
And in a glass he hadde pigges bones. 
But with these relikes, when that he fond^ 
A poore parson dwelling upon lond,^ 
Upon that day he got him more moneye 
Than that the parson got in monthes tweye ; 
And thus with feigned flattery and japes 
He made the parson and the people his apes. 
But, truely to tellen atte last, 
He was in church a noble ecclesiast ; 
Well could he read a lesson or a story, 
But alderbest^ he sung an Offertory ; 
For well he wiste, when that song was sung, 
He muste preach, and well affile ^ his tongue 
To winne silver, as he full well could ; 
Therefore he sung the merrierly and loud." 

Rouncevale was probably the name of the 
fraternity to which the Pardoner belonged. 
There was a Rounceval Hall in Oxford, and a 
hospital of the Blessed Mary of Rounceval near 
Charing Cross, in London, probably both named 
from the church of Roncevalles near Pamplona 
in Spain, v/hich was built in memory of one of 
Charlemagne's leaders, and attained a great 
vogue amongst pilgrims. The change in the 
relative importance of places is illustrated by the 
casual mention ''from Berwick unto Ware," 

1 pack 

'■^ pillow-c^se 

•^ cutting 



^ caught 


7 land 


^ sheet metal 


8 best of all 


•' found 


^ smooth 



204 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

showing that Ware was a notable last stage 
toward London, and was regarded as a sort of 
southern boundary of the Midlands. 

The relics carried by this precious Pardoner 
were, alas ! about on a par with too many of 
the fraudulent oddments sold by unscrupulous 
wonder-mongers to credulous or covetous priests 
and monks ; and by them shown to still more 
credulous people. The attitude of reasonably 
well-educated men toward these frauds is shown 
by Chaucer's frank statement that the bones in 
the glass were those of a pig : and his cautious 
statement that the Pardoner '' said " what the 
other relics were. The latten cross, studded 
with cut stones, and borne in full view, is the one 
thing unequivocally mentioned. The Pardoner is 
perfectly frank about his own methods and 
deceits, for in the prologue to his tale he 
tells us : 

"... in churches when I preach, 
I paine ^ me to have an hauteyn ^ speech, 
And ring it out as round as goeth a bell, 
For I kan ^ all by rote that I tell. 
My theme is always one, and ever was, — 
Radix malonun est Cupiditas.^ 
First, I pronounce whennes that I come, 
And then my bulles shew I, all and some ; 
Our liege lordes seal on my patente. 
That shew I first, my body to warrent, 
That no man be so bold, ne ^ priest, ne ^ clerk, 
Me to disturb of Christe's holy work ; 
And, after that, then tell I forth my tales, 
Bulles of popes and of cardinales. 
Of patriarchs and bishoppes I shew, 
And in Latin I speak a wordes few 

^ take pains ^ love of money is the root of 

'■^ dignified evil 

•* know ^ nor 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 205 

To saffron ^ with my predicati6n 
And for to stir them to devoti6n : 
Then shew I forth my longe crystal stones 
Y-crammed full of cloutes and of bones, — 
Relics be they, as wenen '^ they each one ; 
Then have I in latoun ^ a shoulder bone 
Which that was of an holy Jewes sheep. 

Good men, I say, take of my wordes keep, — 
If that this bone be washed in any well, 
If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swell 
That any worm hath eat, or worm y-stung, 
Take water of that well and wash his tongue, 
And it is whole anon ; and furthermore 
Of pockes, and of scab, and every sore." 

This water had many other valuable 
properties for man and beast ; and he related 
the virtues of a mitten : — 

'' He that his hand will put in this mittayn. 
He shall have multiplying of his grain, 
When he hath sowen, be it wheat or oats. 
So that he offer pence, or elles groats. 

Good men and women, one thing I warn you, 
If any wight ^ be in this churche now 
That hath done sinne horrible, that he 
Dare not for sin of it y-shriven be. 
Or any woman, be she young or old. 
That hath y-made her husband cuckewold,^ 
Such folk shall have no power, ne no grace 
To offer to my relics in this place ; 
And whoso findeth him out of ^ such blame 
They will come up and offer in Goddes name. 
And I assoil them by authority 
Which that by bull y-granted was to me. 
By this gaud ^ have I wonne year by year, 
A hundred marks since I was Pardoner 
I preache so as you have heard before. 
And tell a hundred false japes more ; 
Of avarice and of such cursedness 

^ tinge or flavour '^ person 

^ believe ^ committed adukery 

^ sheet metal ; doubtless a box ^ free from 

or case '' trick 



2o6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Is all my preaching, for to make them free 
To give their pence, and namely unto me ; 
For mine intent is not but for to win, 
And no thing for correction of sin." 

When people did not subscribe, after his plain 
statement that non-subscribers were self-confessed 
notorious sinners ; he held them up to public 
rebuke and scorn, mentioning: no names, but 
giving hints and signs. 

" Thus spit I out my venom under hue 
Of holiness, to se^m holy and true. 
But shortly, mine intent I will devise, — 
I preach of no thing but of coveityse ; ^ 
Therefore my theme is yet and ever was 
Radix inalorjim est Capiditas. 
Thus can I preach against that same vice 
Which that I use, and that is avarice ; 
But though myself be guilty in that sin 
Yet can I maken other folk to twin - 
From avarice, and sore to repent ; 
But that is not my principal intent 
I preache no thing but for coveityse ^ 

For I will preach and beg in sundry lands ; 

I will not do no labour with mine hands, 

Nor make baskettes and live thereby, 

Because I will not beggen ^ idelly.^ 

I will none of the Apostles counterfeit, 

I will have money, woolle,^ cheese and wheat, 

Al ^ were it given of the poorest page, 

Or of the poorest widow in a village, 

Al ^ should their children starve for famine. 

Nay, I will drinke liquor of the vine. 

And have a jolly wench in every town ; " 

Then, with the admission that ''myself be a 

^ covetousness ^ idly 

^ part 6 ^oqI 

2 covetousness '' though 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 207 

full vicious man," he began a moral story after 
drinking- a draught of corny ale. 

At the conclusion of the tale he made an 
impassioned appeal to his hearers against covetous- 
ness, and whether from sheer impertinence or 
because it had become an irresistible habit to do 
so, promised them absolution — 

" So that you offer nobles, or sterlings, 
Or elles silver brooches, spoones, rings. 
Boweth 1 your heads under this holy bull ! 
Come up, ye wives, offer of your wull ! '-^ 
Your names I enter here in my roll anon ; 
Into the bliss of heaven shall ye gon : ^ 

I have relikes and pardon in my male."* 

That such a picture is no great exaggeration, 
we knovs^ from ample evidence. These pardoners 
and granters of indulgences, protected by bulls 
from the pope or some foreign religious 
house, wandered about the country, or from one 
land to another, without even the checks that 
were imposed on limiters and summoners. 
Taking up their trade from sheer greed of easy 
gain, these black sheep had sufficient education 
to enable them to secure credentials, and had 
then sufficient wit to keep themselves out of the 
clutches of the Church and the sheriff while they 
preyed upon the fears of the ignorant, the super- 
stitious, and the simple religious folk. 

The basis of the idea of pardons and 
indulgences was the Treasury of Merits, supposed 
to be formed by the merits of the Redeemer, the 
Virgin, saints, and holy people, possessed in 

^ bow 2 ^yjii 3 gTQ 4 ^vallet 



2o8 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

excess of those needed for their own salvation. 
These merits formed a reservoir, which had long 
been drawn upon before its value was defined in a 
bull of Pope Clement VI. in 1350, when he 
explained that the superabundant merits had 
been formed into a treasury, ''not one that is 
deposited in a strong room or burled in a field, 
but intended to be usefully distributed to the 
faithful, through the blessed Peter, keeper of 
Heaven's gate, and through his successors." 
There was ''no fear of an absorption or diminu- 
tion of this treasure, first because of the infinite 
merits of Christ, and again because the more 
numerous the people reclaimed through the use 
of its contents, the more it Is augmented by the 
addition of their merits." The merits of this 
treasury were to be won by prayer and fasting, 
penance and psalm-singing ; but those who could 
not say the necessary number of prayers were 
allowed, instead, to contribute to good works. 
Thus great funds were collected for the waging 
of war in Palestine, and elsewhere against the 
paynim, for building bridges, churches, and 
cathedrals, and for the support of the poor ; and 
so far the system was good. But abuses crept 
in, and men like Chaucer's pardoners, wandering 
out of the jurisdiction of those who had given 
them their documents, or trading on forged or 
stolen bulls, gave account to no one, and brought 
immense discredit on the Church. 

Pope Boniface IX. (1389- 1404) recognised 
the scandal, and made it the subject of one of 
his pontifical letters to the Church, in which he 
says that these pardoners are sometimes secular 
priests and sometimes friars, but always very 




O .2 




CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 209 

impudent. They dispense with all ecclesiastical 
license, and go from village to village, making 
speeches, showing relics, and selling pardon. 
The success of authorised pardoners causes self- 
seeking pardoners to issue from the school or 
the priory or from nothingness, greedy, true 
vagabonds, infesting the highways, caring for 
none, but impertinently plying their trade. 
They scruple not to loose on earth that which 
may be bound in heaven. They proclaim to the 
faithful and simple people their true or pretended 
authorisations, and in pursuit of hateful gain, 
sum up their impudence by claiming authorisa- 
tions which are false or pretended. For a paltry 
money payment they throw the veil of a lying 
absolution, not over penitents, but over men of 
hardened conscience, who persist in iniquity, 
remitting the penalties of horrible crimes without 
any contrition or the performance of any usual 
penances. They release from vows of chastity, 
of abstinence, and of pilgrimage beyond seas : 
they allow heretics to re-enter the Church ; and 
as their power comes from themselves only, 
nothing checks it, and they use it without let or 
hindrance. \ 

Boniface went so far as to allege that there 
were regular associations or guilds of these 
parasites, and ordered the bishops to make 
search and inquiry for such people, examine 
their authorisations and receipts for remittances 
to headquarters, and if there was any doubt, keep 
them in prison, without other form of law, until 
the matter had been referred to Rome. 

The Bishop of Durham, in 1340, had taken 
steps to abate the same nuisance, ordering all 

o 



2IO CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

vicars and curates in his diocese to prevent all 
preaching and pardoning by men whose only 
credentials came from a distance, and to seize 
from them any money or other articles they had 
collected. 

Pope Urban V., in 1369, tried to suppress the 
same sort of thing, and especially took notice of 
the injury done to parish priests and curates ; 
and many other popes and bishops made similar 
efforts. But the difficulties were efreat : some 
men in high places were almost as shameless 
pardoners as the one in Chaucer's company ; 
and when, in 14 14, the University of Oxford 
moved for the abolition of the whole system, it 
was found impossible for anything to be done. 
And nothing was done until the great storm of 
the Reformation swept the pardoners from one 
country after another ; a storm which was in 
great part aroused by their doings. At that 
time the Decree of Reform of the pope (Pius 
IV., in 1562) stated that there was no further 
hope of amending the pardoners, therefore their 
use, and the name of them, were entirely abolished 
throughout all Christendom. 

If much space has been given to the considera- 
tion of this character, it is because, while he is 
one of the least pleasant, he is one of the most 
important as illustrating a chief feature of the 
time, — waning faith being gradually overwhelmed 
by superstition and duplicity. 

We shall have a view of the " Poor Parson," 
whose pure, beautiful life is in charming contrast 
with those of the luxurious and indifferent monk 
and friar, and of the degraded summoner and 
pardoner ; but first we have two churchmen, one 



CHAUCERS PILGRIMS 211 

connected with the business side of a religious 
house, the other unbeneficed. 

" A gentle Manciple was there of a temple, 
Of which achaatours ^ mighte take exemple 




The Manciple 
(From the Ellesmere MS.'). 

For to be wise in buying of vitaille ; ^ 
For whether that he paid or took by taille 
Always he waited so in his achaat ^ 
That he was ay before, and in good state. 



^ buyers 
- provisions 



3 tally, ?>. on credit 
^ buying 



212 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Now is not that of God a full fair grace 

That such a lewed ^ marines wit shall pace 

The wisdom of a heap of learned men ? 

Of masters had he more than thries ten, 

That were of law expert and curious, 

Of which there were a dozen in that house 

Worthy to be stewards of rent and land 

Of any lord that is in Engeland, 

To make him live by his proper good ^ 

In honour debteless, but ^ he were wood,* 

Or live as scarcely ^ as him list desire ; 

And able for to helpen all a shire 

In any case that mighte fall or hap ; 

And yet this Manciple set hir aller cappe.'"^ 

The picture is so complete that nothing need 
be added to it. This unlettered man knew that 
he that is diligent in business shall stand before 
kings, and made himself the master of his many 
masters. A similarly estimable character, though 
one absolutely lacking in business acumen, is the 
Clerk of Oxford. 

" A Clerk there was of Oxenford also 
That unto logic hadde long y-goJ 
As leane was his horse as is a rake, 
And he nas ^ not right fat, I undertake, 
But looked hollow, and ther-to ^ soberly ^^ 
Full threadbare was his overest^^ courtepy ; ^'-^ 
For he had getten him yet no benefice, 
Ne was so worldly for to have office ; 
For him was lever ^^ have at his bed's head 
Tweenty bookes clad in black and red 
Of Aristotle and his philosophy. 
Than robes rich, or fithele,^* or gay sautrie : ^^ 



^ uneducated 


^ was not 


2 within his means 


^ moreover 


^ unless 


1° poorly 


^ mad 


" uppermost 


5 frugally 


^'■^ cape 


^ set all their caps, i.e. was able to 


^^ would rather 


out-wit and manage them 


1* fiddle 


'gone 


^■' psaltery 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 



213 



But all be that he was a philosopher, 

Yet hadde he but little gold in coffer ; 

But all that he might of his friendes hente ^ 

On bookes and on learning he it spent, 

And busily 'gan for the soules pray 

Of them that gave him. where-with to scoleye ^ 

Of study took he most care and most heed. 

Not one word spoke he more than was need. 






The Clerk of Oxenford 

{From the Ellesmere MS,). 

And that was said in form and reverence, 
And short and quick and full of high sentence. 
Sowning ^ in moral virtue was his speech. 
And gladly would he learn and gladV teach." 

This admirable young scholar stood little 
chance of preferment in competition with such 
successful self-seekers as were represented even in 

1 obtain '^ study ^ tending to 



214 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

the small company of pilgrims. His best prospect 
was that he might obtain some small country 
parsonage, such as was held by the last pilgrim of 
the original company, of whom we have Chaucer's 
description. Before passing to him, however, it 
may be well to note the contrast between this 
Clerk of Oxenforcl and two others. The one who 
became the fifth husband of the Wife of Bath, by 
whom he was courted while her fourth husband 
still lived, was a very different sort of person ; and 
so, too, was the clerk Nicholas of the Reeve's 
tale, who beguiled the carpenter. 

The Poor Parson of a Town, with his brother 
the Plowman, whom we have already discussed, 
form a very charming pair, of whom little need 
be said beyond what is given in Chaucer's own 
words. " A town " evidently means quite a small 
country village, for we are expressly told that his 
parish was wide, and houses far asunder ; — he was, 
in fact, the prototype of the good parson of Sweet 
Auburn. 

'' A good man was there of religioun. 
And was a Poore Parson of a Town ; 
But rich he was of holy thought and work ; 
He was als6 a learned man, a clerk, 
That Christes gospel trewely would preach : 
His parishens ^ devoutly would he teach. 
Benign he was, and wondrous diligent, 
And in adversity full patient ; 
And such he was y-proved ofte sithes.^ 
Full loth were he to cursen ^ for his tythes, 
But rather would he given,^ out of doubt,^ 
Unto his poore parishens about, 
Of his off 'ring, and eke of his substance ; 
He could in little thing have suflisance.^ 

^ parishioners ^ give 

- times 5 without doubt 

^ curse or excommunicate (the non-payers) ^ sufficiency 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 215 

Wide was his parish and houses far asunder, 
But he ne lefte nat i for rain nor thunder, 
In sickness nor in mischief to visite 
The furthest in his parishy^uch and Hte," 
Upon his feet, and in his' hand a staff. 
This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf -"^ 
That first he wrought and afterward he taught. 
Out of the gospel he those wordes caught, 
And this figure he added eke thereto, 
That if gold ruste what shall iron do ? 
For if a priest be foul, on whom we trust, 
No wonder is a lewed * man to rust ; 




The Poor Parson 
{From the Ellesmere MS,). 

And shame it is if a priest take keep, 

A shiten ^ shepherd and a clene sheep. 

Well ought a priest ensample for to give 

By his cleanness how that his sheep should live. 

He sette not his benefice to hire 

And left his sheep encumbered in the mire. 

And ran to Londoun, unto Saint Poules,^ 

To seken him a chantery for souls ; 

Or with a brotherhood to be withhold, 

But dwelt at home and kepte well his fold, 

1 never failed ^ gave \ befouled 

■^ great and small "" ignorant ^ Paul s 



2i6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

So that the wolf ne made it not miscarry, — 

He was a shepherd, not a mercenary : 

And though he holy was, and virtuous, 

He was to sinful man not despitous,i 

Nor of his speeche dangerous nor digne,^ 

But in his teaching discreet and benign, 

To drawen folk to heaven by fairness, 

By good ensample, this was his business : 

But it were any person obstinate. 

What so he were, of high or low estate. 

Him would he snybben ^ sharply for the nonys.* 

A better priest I trow that nowhere none is ; 

He waited after no pomp and reverence 

Nor maked him a spiced '* conscience, 

But Christes lore, and His Apostles twelve. 

He taught, but first he followed it himselve." 

At this point one v^ould gladly leave the 
pilgrims ; but there are two more, described in 
the Canterbury Tales, though not in the prologue. 
They are the Canon-alchemist, and his Yeoman, 
who overtook the other pilgrims on the fourth 
day at Boughton-under-Blean. They represented 
the scientific delusion of the age, and the Yeoman 
began by lying as shamelessly as ever did any 
Pardoner. Describing his master, he says : — 

'' That all this ground on which we be riding, 
Till that we come to Canterbury town, 
. He could all cleane turn it upside-down. 
And pave it all of silver and of gold." 

In feigned astonishment the Host cried, *' Bene- 
dicite ! " but expressed wonder that so great 
a man should care so little for his appearance, 
and pointed out that his cloak was dirty and 
ragged. Whereat the Yeoman admitted that his 
master, like other great men, was somewhat 

^ unsympathetic ■' reprove ^ pampered 

'^ haughty ■* nonce ; time being 



CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 



217 



slovenly. Further pressing and leading from the 
Host induced the Yeoman to tell the story of his 
experiences as an alchemist, and to decide on 
leaving his master's service ; and the story, as 




The Canon's Yeoman 
{From the Ellesmere MS.). 



given by Chaucer, is a wonderful exposition of 
the methods of mediceval alchemy. The list of 
drugs, chemicals and elixirs, the names of vessels 
and tools, and the descriptions of methods, form a 



2i8 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

short but very full treatise of greatest possible 
interest, and the story of the hopes and fears, the 
self-deceptions and deceptions of others that made 
up the alchemist's lot, is full of instruction. The 
doings of the Canon, who was apparently an 
honest investigator, spending his own money and 
all that he could raise from others in experiments 
from which he constantly expected great returns, 
are even more interesting than those of the 
fraudulent teacher of alchemy whose tricks were 
exposed. In the days before modern methods of 
exact observation, the alchemists did much good 
pioneer work in chemistry, and if their time and 
money were often wasted on wild-goose chases, 
their beliefs and hopes were on a par with the 
general ignorance of the period. The story of 
their doings, introduced as by an afterthought, 
tends greatly toward the completeness of 
Chaucer's picture of mediaeval life. 



CHAPTER X 

TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 

" When that Aprille with his showeres soote ^ 
The drought of March hath pierced to the roote, 
And bathed every vein in such Uquor 
Of which virtue engendered is the flower ; 
When Zephirus eek with his sweete breath 
Inspired hath in every holt and heath 
The tender croppes, and the younge sun 
Hath in the Ram his halfe course y-run, 
And smalle fowles maken melodye, 
That sleepen all the night with open eye,— 
So pricketh them Natilre in their courages, — 
Then longen folk to go on pilgrimages, 
And palmers for to seeken strange strands, 
To feme ^ halwes,^ kowthe ^ in sundry lands 
And specially from every shires end 
Of Engeland, to Canterbury they wend, 
The holy, bHssful martyr for to seek 
That them hath holpen when that they were sick." 

Before we take our staffs in hand to follow 
Chaucer's pilgrims' road, it may be well to 
consider the nature of the country through which 
we are to travel. Fortunately, in Lambarde's 
'* Perambulation," Kent possesses the earliest 
County History, and one which may well be 
taken as a model for its thoroughness and its 

1 sweet 2 ancient ^ shrines '^ known ; celebrated 
219 



220 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

discrimination. Although Lambarde wrote in 
1570, two hundred years after Chaucer's day, 
and thirty years after the final blow had been 
given to the pilgrimages by Henry VIII., his 
work affords most valuable glimpses of the state 
of Kent even in the pilgrims' times. He tells us 
that '' the soil is for the most part bountiful, 
consisting indifferently of arable, pasture, meadow 
and wood land," of which ''wood occupieth the 
greatest portion even till this day. ... In fertile 
and fruitful woods and trees, this country is most 
flourishing also, whether you respect the mast of 
oak, beech and chesten for cattle : or the fruit of 
apples, pears, cherries and plums for men, for 
... it hath whole woods that bear chestnut (a 
fruit whereof even delicate persons disdain not to 
feed), not commonly seen in other counties. As 
for orchards of apples and gardens of cherries, 
and those of the most delicious and exquisite 
kinds that can be, no part of the realm (that I 
know) hath them, either in such quantity and 
number, or with such art and industry set and 
planted." Of horses, cattle and sheep, Lambarde 
says the only peculiarity of Kent is that, ''it 
bringeth forth the largest of stature in each 
kind," and reminds us that even in the time of 
Polydorus, the Kentish poultry was notable for 
its size. Parks of fallow deer and warrens of 
grey rabbits were very numerous, though we are 
told that half the parks had been disforested 
within living memory, while the rabbits (being 
sources of profit, and the deer merely for pleasure) 
had fully held their own or even increased. Of 
the gentry, mention shall be made anon. Of the 
yeomanry, Lambarde says that they are nowhere 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 221 

more free and jolly than in this shire, for that 
*' there were never any bondmen (or villaines, as 
the law calieth them) in Kent." The tenure of 
the yeomen was (as it still is) freehold, ''and in 
this their estate, they please themselves, and joy 
exceedingly, insomuch, as a man may find sundry 
yeomen (although for wealth comparable with 
many of the gentle sort) that will not change 
their condition, nor desi<re to be apparelled with 
the titles of gentry. Neither is this any cause of 
disdain, or of alienation of the good minds of one 
sort from the other ; for nowhere else in all this 
realm is the common people more willingly 
governed. To be short, they be most commonly 
civil, just and bountiful, so that the estate of the 
old franklins and yeomen of England either yet 
liveth in Kent or else it is quite dead and departed 
out of the realm for altogether." 

The industries of the county were husbandry 
and its kindred arts, seafaring, working in stone, 
iron, and fuel wood ; and, most importantly, the 
making of coloured woollen cloths, "in which last 
feat they excel, as from whom is drawn both 
sufficient store to furnish the wear of the best 
sort of our own nation at home, and great plenty 
also to be transported to other foreign countries 
abroad." 

Nearness to London, and situation on a great 
national highway (the Dover Road, or the 
Watling Street), were noted by Lambarde as 
affecting the men, as well as some of the industries 
of Kent. The land supported no red deer, 
because it had no ''great walks of waste ground," 
and it had no black conies (or as we should now 
say, silver-grey rabbits), for black conies are kept 



222 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

partly for their skins, which have their season in 
winter ; and Kent, by its nearness to London, 
"hath so quick a market of young rabbits that 
it killeth this game chiefly in summer." Of the 
gentry, he tells us that ''the gentlemen be not 
here (throughout) of so ancient stocks as else- 
where, especially in the parts nearer to London, 
from which city (as it were from a certain rich 
and wealthy seed-plot), courtiers, lawyers, and 
merchants be continually translated, and do 
become new plants amongst them. Yet be their 
revenues greater than anywhere else ; which 
thing groweth not so much by the quantity of 
their possession, or by the fertility of their soil, 
as by the benefit of the situation of the country 
itself ... by the sea, the river, a populous city 
and a well-traded highway, by the commodities 
whereof the superfluous fruits of the ground be 
dearly sold, and consequently the land may yield 
a greater rent. These gentlemen be also ac- 
quainted with good letters and trained in the 
laws. They manure ^ some large portion of their 
territories as well for the maintenance of their 
families, as also for their better increase in wealth. 
So that they be well employed both in the public 
service and in their own particular, and do use 
hawking, hunting, and other sports, rather for 
their recreation than for an occupation of 
pastime." 

Thus rich in every way, by natural and by 
industrial circumstance, Kent well maintained at 
the close of the pilgrimages, that old reputation 
of which she has long been proud. She was 

^ Manuring, at this time, indicated tillage and cultivation rather than 
the application of fertilisers. 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 223 

famous, as Dickens tells us by the lips of 
Jingle, for "apples, cherries, hops,^ and women," 
famous for her free-born, free-soil yeomen, of 
whom Scott makes Wamba sing : 

" For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 
There ne'er was a widow could say him nay," 

and little less famous for her seventy miles of the 
most important portion of the greatest Roman 
road, along which the commerce, the culture, and 
the diplomacy of Europe have rolled for a couple 
of thousand years toward Westminster and 
London. 

Of this seaward portion of the Watling Street, 
the fifty-six miles from London to Canterbury 
form Chaucer's Pilgrims' Way, and, with the 
exception of some twelve miles between Dartford 
and Strood, the modern Dover Road follows the 
same line. Let us try to trace the way as 
Chaucer's pilgrims saw it. We will join them at 
the Tabard, in the borough of Southwark, where 
we hear that a goodly party is assembling to start 
on the morrow. Thus, in Chaucer's words : — 

'' Befel that in that season on a day, 
In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay, 
Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage 
To Canterbury \yith full devout courage, 
At night were come into that hostelry 
Well nine-and-twenty in a company, 
Of sundry folk, by aventure ^ y-fall ^ 
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all, 
That toward Canterbury woulden ride. 
The chambers and the stables weren wide, 
And well we weren eased atte best. 
And shortly, when the sunne was to rest, 

1 Hops began to be freely used in the reign of Henry VHI. 
- chance -^ fallen ; thrown 



224 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

So had I spoken with them everyone 
That I was of their fellowship anon, 
And made forward early for to rise, 
To make our way, there as I you devise." 

The Tabard, of which nothing now remains, 
save the name, attached to a modern inn on the 
same site (No. 85 Borough High Street), was 
orginally built as a London House for the Abbot 
of Hyde, Winchester, in 1307. It stood in the 
Borough High Street, the busy market-road 
leading from London Bridge into Kent, and until 
long after the close of the pilgrimages, was 
surrounded by good gardens and orchards, which 
broke the line of houses on both sides of the 
Borough, while thick plantations of trees ran 
along the river side below London Bridge. The 
house was large and rambling, many-gabled, built 
of huge timbers with lath-and-plaster between, 
extended around three sides of a great square, 
with storehouses, brewhouse, harness-rooms, and 
rooms for the horse-keepers on the fourth side, 
and beyond that again a second great square 
surrounded by stables. The first square was 
entered by an archway through the front portion 
of the house itself, and another archway led 
through the far side of the square to the stable 
yard. The first duty of the travellers was to see 
their horses well bestowed, then to partake of the 
meat and drink set before them — great loaves of 
bread, thin oaten cakes, huge joints, meat pies 
and mutton pasties, washed down with nut-brown 
ale. For men of the Kentish weald, and others 
who loved the apple-drink, there was pomage or 
cider made from the fruit of the very orchards 
through which they were about to pass ; and 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 225 

wines of foreign lands were also on the generous 
board. Chaucer says : — 



" Great cheere made our Hoste us everyone, 
And to the supper set he us anon, 
And served us with victual at the best ; 
Strong was the wine and well to drink us leste ^ 

A seemly man our Hoste was withal. 
For to have been a m.arshal in a hall. 
A large man he was, with eyen ^ stepe,^ 
A fairer burgess is there none in Chepe ; ^ 
Bold of his speech, and wise, and well y-taught 
And of manhood him lackede right naught. 
Eke thereto he was right a merry man, 
And after supper pleyen ^ he began, 
And spake of mirth amonges other things, 
When that we hadde made our reckonings ; 
And saide thus : ' Now, lordings, trewely,^ 
Ye be to me right welcome heartily ; 
For by my troth, if that I shall not lie, 
I ne '^ saw this year so merry a company 
At ones^ in this harbour as is now ; 
Fain would I do you mirthe, wist I how. 
And of a mirth I am right now bethought, 
To do you ease, and it shall coste naught. 
You go to Canterbury — God you speed. 
The blissful martyr quite you your meed ! 
And well I woot,^ as ye go by the way 
Ye shapen you to talen and to play ; 
For trewely comfort ne mirth is none 
To ride by the way dumb as a stone ; 
And therefore will I maken you disport. 
As I said erst,^^ and do you some comfort. 
And if you liketh all, by one assent, 
Now for to standen at my judgement. 
And for to worken as I shall you say. 
To-morrow when ye riden by the way, 

1 •' us leste " — it pleased us ^ truly 

^ eyes ' not 

^ bright 8 once 

^ Cheapside ® know 

^ jesting ^0 before 

P 



226 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Now, by my father's soule, that is dead, 

But ye be merry, smite off my head ! 

Hold up your hand, withouten more speech.' 

Our conseil was not longe for to seche ; ^ 

Us thought it was naught worth to make it wise, 

And granted him withouten more avise, 

And bade him say his verdict, as he leste.^ 

' Lordings,' quoth he, ' now hearken for the best ; 
But take it naught, I pray you, in disdain ; 
This is the point, to speaken short and plain, 
That each of you, to shorte with your way 
In this viage ^ shall telle tales tweye,^ — 
To Canterburyward, I mean it so, 
And homeward he shall tellen other two, — 
Of aventures that whilom ^ have befall. 
And which of you that beareth him best of all, 
That is to say, that telleth in this case 
Tales of best sentence ^ and most solace, 
Shall have a supper at our aller '' cost, 
Here in this place, sitting by this post, 
When that we come again fro Canterbury. 
And, for to make you the more merry, 
I will myselven gladly with you ride 
Right at mine owen cost, and be your guide ; 
And whoso will my judgement withsay 
Shall pay all that we spenden by the way. 
And if ye vouchesafe that it be so 
Tell me anon, withouten wordes mo, 
And I will early shape ^ me therefor.' 

This thing was granted, and our oathes swore 
With full glad heart, and prayden him also 
That he would vouchesafe for to do so. 
And that he woulde be our governour, 
And of our tales judge and reportour. 
And set a supper at a certain price. 
And we would ruled be by his device ^ 
In high and low ; and thus, by one consent 
We been ^^ accorded to his judgement. 



^seek 
- pleased 


^ judgment 
' of all 


'^ journey 
^ two 


^ prepare 

^ plan ; scheme 


*" once upon a time 


1" did be ; were 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 227 

And thereupon the wine was fet ^ anon ; 
We dronken, and to restc went each one, 
Wilhouten any longer tarrying." 

As was the custom of the time, the guests 
disposed themselves to sleep In those chambers 
which *'weren wide," and not in the small private 
rooms that would be expected nowadays. 
Grooms and horse-keepers slept in the stables 
and barns, the serving-men found beds amongst 
the rushes or straw of the hall and other down- 
stairs rooms, the general guests lay on couches, or 
benches, or on the floor in the great upper rooms, 
with or without beds, that were practically long, 
wide sacks, stuffed with straw, rushes, or hay. 
The women had their separate rooms, and 
possibly some guest of great importance or 
fastidiousness would be accommodated with a 
bedstead, and a room reserved for himself. 
Bedsteads and couches were not necessities in 
those days. Great folk, w^hen they visited the 
distant houses of their friends, quite frequently 
carried their beds with them, and did the same 
when changing from one to another of their own 
houses. Bedsteads, as we know them, were 
Introduced in the fifteenth century, and at about 
the same time, night-clothes, and the habit of dis- 
carding the day-clothes before sleep, were noticed 
as luxurious innovations. 

Whatever may have been the accommodation, 
we may hope that the pilgrims all slept soundly, 
for they made an early start next morning. The 
sun rose about five o'clock, and at an even earlier 
hour the men and maids of the period were 

' fetched 



228 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

expected to be up and about their work, in stable 
or field, in washhouse, bakehouse, or brewhouse. 
The Host of the Tabard probably roused his 
guests before sunrise : — 

" Up rose our Host and was our aller cock, 
And gathered us together all in a flock, 
And forth we riden, a little more than paas,^ 
Unto the watering of Saint Thomas." 

The speed, '* a little more than pace," reminds 
us that the pilgrimage was in the day of horses 
noted for strength rather than for speed, over a 
way which had fallen into much neglect since the 
time of the road-making Romans, while this first 
part would not be over the Roman road, since 
that ran direct to Westminster, passing to the 
south of the borough. Moreover, a party of 
thirty men and women, variously mounted, of very 
varied abilities in the saddle, and with the need for 
stopping to repair minor mishaps and to keep 
the whole company together, would necessarily 
move slowly. A royal pilgrim, the queen-mother 
Isabella, on her pilgrimage in 1358, slept the 
first night at Dartford, fifteen miles from London, 
the second at Rochester (thirty miles), the third 
at Ospringe (forty-seven miles), and on the 
fourth day arrived at Canterbury. John of 
France, a couple of years later, spent the nights 
of his pilgrimage at Dartford, Rochester, and 
Ospringe, dining at Sittingbourne on the third 
day ; and other records show that these were the 
usual stages on journeys of state or business, as 
well as on pilgrimage. This slow progress would 
o-ive ample time for long rests, during which the 

1 pace ; a walk 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 229 

tales of Chaucer's pilgrims could be enjoyed : and 
although it is clear that parts of the stories were 
told while the cavalcade was in motion, it seems 
reasonable to suppose that most of them were 
given during halts by the way — or they could not 
have been heard by so large a party. Other 
considerations bearing upon this point will be 
seen anon. 

Meanwhile, by ways of which no semblance 
remains to-day, and very little record (save in the 
name of Tabard Street, which runs along the first 
half-mile of their route), the pilgrims reached the 
first ''Watering of St Thomas," a name given to 
many wells, springs, and streams along the roads 
to Canterbury. This particular watering was a 
stream near the second milestone on the Dover 
Road, commemorated to-day by the name of St 
Thomas Street, on the south side of the Old 
Kent Road, and by the Thomas a Becket Inn. 
Here a pause was made : 

" And there our Host began his horse arrest 
And saide, ' Lordmgs, hearken, if you leste 
Ye woot^ your foreword and I it you record. 
If even-song and morrow-song accord 
Let see now^ who shall tell the firste tale. 
iVs ever mote - I drinke wine or ale, 
Whoso be rebel to my judgement 
Shall pay for all that by the way is spent. 
Now draweth cut, ere that we further twynne ^ 
He which that hath the shortest shall begin. 
Sire Knight,' quoth he, ' my master and my lord, 
Now draweth cut, for that is mine accord.-* 
Come near,' quoth he, ' my lady Prioress, 
And you sir Clerk, let be your shamefacedness, 
Ne studieth naught ; lay hand to, every man.' 
\ non to drawen every wight began, 

1 know -' may "^ proceed •' agreement 



230 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

And shortly for to tellen as it was, 

Were it by aventure, or sort/ or cas,^ 

The sooth ^ is this, the cut fell to the knight, 

Of which full blithe and glad was every wdght : 

And tell he must his tale, as was reasoun, 

By foreward ^ and by composicioun,^ 

As ye have heard ; what needeth wordes mo ? " 

The lottery of ''drawing cut" was by one 
person (in this case the Host) breaking a number 
of pieces of straw or grass to about the same 
length, and one appreciably shorter. Gathering 
them all in his hand, so that only the ends were 
seen, he allowed his companions to draw, the lot 
falling upon him who drew the short piece. In 
this case the Knight, drawing the short cut, at 
once accepts fate's decision : — 

" And when this good man saw that it was so, 
As he that wise was and obedient 
To keep his foreward by his free assent, 
He saide, ' Since I shall begin the game, 
What, welcome be the cut in Goddes name ! 
Now let us ride and hearken what I say.' 
And with that word we riden '^ forth our way ; 
And he began with right a merry cheer 
His tale anon, and said in this manere." 

The Knight's tale of the fates of Palamon and 
Arcite is characteristic of the man by whom it is 
supposed to be told, with his love of chivalry and 
martial matters. Its language and construction 
agree well with the culture of the man who — 

"... never yet no villainy ne sayde, 
In all his life, unto no manner wight 
He was a very perfect, gentle knight." 

1 fate * prearrangement 

'•^ chance ^ undertaking 

•' truth •* rode 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 231 

All throu[^h the story, to its last line of 
benediction : 

'' And God save all this faire company. 

Amen," 

the tone suitable to the knight is well preserved. 
It is a long- poem of some two thousand two 
hundred and fifty lines, and for a reason that we 
shall see shortly, Chaucer meant that most of it 
should be told during a rest. At its ending 
''there was not young or old " in all the company 
but said it was a noble story, well worth 
remembering. The Host — 

"... laugh and swore, " So may I gon, 
This goeth aright ; unbuckled is the male ; ^ 
Let see now who shall tell another tale ; 
For trewely the game is well begun." 

He called upon the Monk for the next story, 
but the Miller, who was so drunk that he could 
scarce sit his horse, and could not keep hat or 
hood upon his head, interrupted *'in Pilate's 
voice," or in the harsh, ranting tone used by 
Pontius Pilate in the miracle plays. He insisted 
on telling the second story, but the Host, seeing 
his condition, tried to pacify him, and only when 
the effort proved fruitless, bade him proceed in his 
own devil's way. Thereupon the Miller said : — 

" That I am drunk, I know it by my sound ; 
And, therefore, if that I mis-speak or say, 
Wyte- it the ale of Southwark, I you pray ; " 

and proposed to tell the story of a carpenter, his 
wife, and her lover, whereupon the Reeve inter- 
fered, bidding him refrain from tales of harlotry. 

' a pedlar'^ wallei - blame 



232 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

The Miller, far from being dissuaded, replied at 
some length to the Reeve, and forthwith 
commenced his tale, for the inclusion of which 
the poet makes this apology to the reader : — 

" What should I more say, but this Miller 
He nolde ^ his wordes for no man forbear, 
But told his churles tale in his manere. 
Methinketh that I shall rehearse it here : 
And therefore every gentle wight I pray, 
For Goddes love, deemeth not that I say 
Of evil intent, but for I moot ' rehearse 
Their tales alle, be they bettre or worse 
Or elles falsen ^ some of my mattere : 
And therefore, whoso list it not y-hear,^ 
Turn over the leaf and choose another tale ; 
For he shall find enow, both great and smale. 
Of storial thing that toucheth gentilesse, 
And eke morality, and holiness, — 
Blameth not me if that ye choose amiss. 
The Miller is a churl, ye know well this, 
So was the Reve, and other many mo, 
And harlotry they tolden bothe two. 
Aviseth you, putteth me out of blame 
And eke men shall not maken ernest of game." 

The Miller's story of the rich churl who was 
a carpenter in Oxford, and of the poor scholar, 
Nicholas, is full of incidental touches redolent of 
the period. The poor scholar was learned in 
astrology, and could predict rain or drought. 
The fact that he had a separate sleeping-room is 
noted : 

" A chamber had he in that hostelry 
Alone, withouten any company,'' 

and we are told that it was daintily decked with 
sweet herbs, while the scholar himself was as 
** sweet as is the root of licorice or any cetewale " 

' would not - must '^ falsify * cares not to hear it 




ill 



y. = 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 233 

(valerian). His clothes press was covered with 
a red cloth ; his bed was neat, and on shelves at 
its head he tidily arranged his astrolabe and the 
countinof-stones then used in arithmetic. A 
psaltery hung above the press, and at nights he 
sang sweetly, now the Angelus to the Virgin, 
and aofain the music of the kinpf. 

The descriptions of the costumes of the 
carpenter's wife and of Absolon, the parish clerk, 
are very full and interesting : we are told that 
the latter chewed grain and licorice to sweeten 
his breath, and placed under his tongue a comfit 
known as a '' true-love " for the same purpose ; 
and that the carpenter swore by St Thomas, 
while his wife's oath was "by St Thomas of 
Kent." 

The gist of the story need not be given here, 
for it is not of the kind now popular in drawing- 
rooms. Chaucer tells us that the company 
received it with varying degrees of approval, 
" but for the more part they laughed and played," 
with the exception of the Reeve, who was 
annoyed that the coarse joke went against the 
carpenter, because he also "was of carpenteris 
craft." He began a long statement — aimed at the 
Miller — about the folly of trying to continue the 
ribaldries of youth when the hair was grey, but 
was cut short by the Host, who cried : — 

" Say forth thy tale, and tarry not the time, 
Lo, Depeford, and it is half way prime, 
Lo, Greenewich, ther many a shrew is in, 
It were all time thy tale to begin." 

From this passage we may feel that the tales 
were told at rests, rather than while riding, for 



234 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

otherwise Deptford and Greenwich would have 
come in sight long before the Knight's and the 
Miller's tales were completed. From the 
Watering of St Thomas, where the lots were 
drawn, to Blackheath Hill is not much more than 
two miles, traversed, in Chaucer's day, by a 
country highway, between farms and cottages, 
and with Deptford and Greenwich nestling 
between it and the river. 

It is a little difficult to understand exactly the 
idea Chaucer wished to convey. " Half way 
prime" meant 7.30 a.m., and if the pilgrims only 
intended to reach Dartford on the first day, one 
wonders why the Host should be in such a hurry. 
Probably his real wish was to check the Reeve's 
preaching and induce him to begin his story. It 
may be that the party had just come in sight of 
Deptford and Greenwich, or that they had just 
reached the top of Blackheath Hill, from which 
there would be a good view of these villages. In 
any case, their way from the ''Watering" had 
lain along the Old Kent Road and the New 
Kent Road, through Deptford Broadway and 
over Deptford Bridge, which spans the 
Ravensbourne. This little stream still supplies 
some power to factories, as it did to the grist 
mills of the pilgrims' days, and at the top of 
Blackheath Hill the open Heath, continuous 
with Greenwich Park, is still preserved. Some- 
where about this spot we may imagine the Reeve 
beginning his tale, which, in revenge for and in 
contrast to the Miller's, made its victim a miller, 
who suffered at the hands of clerks (or scholars) 
of Cambridge. Like the Miller's tale, it opens 
with a good description, for it tells us that the 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 235 

miller of Cambridge was proud and gay as any 
peacock, that he could pipe, fish, mend nets, turn 
cups (drink), wrestle and shoot, and went well 
armed. At his belt he carried a long knife as 
well as a "full trenchant" sword, while his pouch 
held a short dagger, and ''a Sheffield thwitel " 
(yet another knife) ''bore he in his hose," as 
Highlanders still wear the skeen dhu. After 
such an armoury, one is not surprised to hear 
that this miller had a round face, flat nose, and 
skull as bald as an ape's ; or that he was jealous, 
a braggart, a thief, and a coward. The 
Cambridge scholars were two North-country 
men, from the town of Strother, whose saints, 
for swearing purposes, were Cuthbert and James, 
and whose dialogue is in the northern speech 
throughout. We learn incidentally that wild 
mares roamed in the fens around Cambridge ; 
and that the miller, with his wife and grown-up 
daughter as well as a baby son, all occupied the 
one great sleeping-room of the mill. For the 
story itself readers may be referred to the original. 
It is certainly as " broad " as the Miller's, and the 
Reeve concludes, religiously but triumphantly — 

'' And God, that sitteth high in Trinity, 
Save all this companye, great and smale. 
Thus have I quit the Miller in my tale." 

We have seen that after the Knight had begun 
the story-telling, the Host had no difficulty in 
inducinof others to continue. When the Reeve 
had finished, the Cook of London was so delighted 
that he "clawed him on the back," declared that 
never since he was called Hogge of W^are had he 



236 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

heard a miller so well taken to task, and volun- 
teered — 

" If ye vouchesafe to hear, 

A tale of me, that am a poore man, 

I will you tell, as well as ever I can, 

A little jape that 'fel in our citee." 

The Host accepted the offer. In a few lines that 
must be quoted for the light they throw upon the 
trade of a cook — 

^' Now tell on, Roger, look that it be good 
For many a pasty hast thou letten blood, 
And many a Jack of Dover hast thou sold, 
That hath been twies hot and twies cold ; 
Of many a pilgrim hast thou Christes curse. 
For of thy parsley yet they fare the worse 
That they have eaten with thy stubble goose : 
For in thy shop is many a flye loose." 

Then, fearing lest he should offend the cook, 
begged him not to be angry at his jest, but the 
cook admitted the truth of the charges — even 
including the twice hot-and-cold jack-pudding — 
but added that a true jest Is a poor jest — 

*' And therefore, Harry Baiily, by thy faith, 
Be thou not wroth, ere we departen here 
Though that my tale be of a hosteleer : 
But natheless I will not tell it yet ; 
But ere we part, I wis, thou shalt be quit." 

He began the story of a London apprentice, whom 
he calls Perkin Revelour, who was ready to sing 
and hop at every bridal, who 'Moved bet the 
tavern than the shop," and who would rush from 
his work whenever there was a procession In 
Cheapslde. He diced and danced and robbed his 
master, until suddenly he was discharged, and had 
no resort but to send "his bed and his array" to 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 237 

a compeer of his own kind, at which point the 
story concludes — '* of this Cokes Tale maked 
Chaucer na more." It is the last that remains of 
the tales of the first day — probably Chaucer never 
completed the series he intended. 

It is impossible to connect the tales with any 
definite part of the day or the way. From 
Blackheath, six miles from London, the road 
dips to what was then the pleasant hamlet of 
Kidbrooke, just beyond which it bends into the 
long straight line of the Watling Street, rising 
gradually for the first mile or so, and then more 
steeply to the top of Shooter's Hill, which is still 
richly bowered in trees. To Welling is a pleasant 
down grade, followed by a gradual rise to Bexley 
Heath, a place which has been much spoiled by 
recent building, then down again to Crayford, 
thirteen miles from London, where the road 
crosses the little river Cray. Here we are told 
that Hengist finally defeated the Britons, and 
founded the Saxon kingdom of Kent, in a.d. 457 ; 
and here the pilgrims would find a little church. 
They probably pushed on, however, to the next, 
and much more important ford, where the road 
crossed the river Darenth, thus giving rise to the 
name of Dartford for the place of crossing. 
Here was ample entertainment for man and beast 
— every comfort, physical and spiritual. In the 
Bull Hotel, built and galleried around a courtyard, 
there may still be portions which go back to 
somewhere near the pilgrims' days, and the 
church, which still shows an ancient fresco of St 
George and the Dragon, and brasses of as early 
date as 1402, has parts of great antiquity. 
Dartford had long been a populous and famous 



238 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

place, probably largely because it was a recog- 
nised stage on the way from London to the 
coast. Here, in 1 235, the Archbishop of Colein," 
sent by the Emperor Frederick, met, and married 
to the Emperor, Isabel, the sister of Henry HI., 
for, as Lambarde says, '' Princes may wooe by 
picture, and marrie by proctor " ; and another 
proof of the importance of the place is given by 
the holding of a great tournament to celebrate the 
home-coming of Edward III. from France in 
1331. Much more interesting to the pilgrims, 
however, would be the fact that the same king, 
Edward HI., had five years later founded a priory 
of the order of St Augustine for one prioress and 
thirty-nine sisters. At the time of their visit this 
priory was wealthy and prosperous, and so con- 
tinued until the dissolution under Henry VIII. 
The present Priory Farm, to the left, just before 
entering Dartford, preserves the memory and the 
few small ruins of what Chaucer saw as a noble 
building. Just beyond the little river, on the 
brow of the hill to the left of the road, stood a 
Chantry of St Edmund, a place of great sanctity 
and power, visited not only by pilgrims passing 
to the greater shrine of St Thomas, but also by 
so many of its own devotees that the road from 
London to Dartford was at one time familiarly 
known as St Edmund's Way. The offerings at 
this shrine formed part of the endowment of the 
priory, and although no part of the shrine 
remains, its site is marked in the cemetery which 
surrounded it and which is still used for burial 
purposes, by the memorial to the Protestant 
martyrs burned on Dartford Brent in the time of 
Queen Mary. 



TALES OF THE FIRST DAY 239 

After the pilgrims had made their devotions 
at the shrine of St Edmund, they might well 
discuss (at the Bull, or other hostelry) 
the stirring doings of Wat Tyler, Jack 
Straw, John Ball, and John Hales, whose 
" Peasant Revolt " had come to a head in 
Dartford only six years before. They would 
talk over the doings of the **petie collectors in 
every quarter," who *'with great extremities 
raked much money from the miserable people," 
and would remind each other of the divine wrath 
of the tyler of Dartford (whether he were really 
Wat or John) who slew the " naughtie fellowe 
who dishonestly intreated a young Damosell," 
daughter to that same tyler, and thereby caused 
the whole seething cauldron of discontent to boil 
over. They would tell of how the great army of 
a hundred thousand desperate Kentish men and 
men of Kent had stormed the jail at Maidstone 
to release their prophet, John Ball ; how they 
sacked the palace of the Archbishop of 
Canterbury ; and how they marched by Black- 
heath, slaying every lawyer they met by the way, 
to London town, where they were joined by the 
great army from Essex, with recruits from 
Norfolk and Suffolk, Cambridge and Hertford- 
shire, Surrey and Sussex. Some of the pilgrims 
may have seen that brief dramatic scene in Smith- 
field when Wat Tyler was slain by Walworth, 
and when the crowd, shouting for vengeance for 
the death of their captain, were taken by the 
bold front of the boy-monarch, who rode forward, 
crying: "What need ye, my masters, I am your 
captain and your king." 

At least Harry Bailly must have seen the 



240 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Kentish crowd surging past his door to London 
bridge ; and returning, as they had done from 
their memorable defiance of the Conqueror, with 
pledges of freedom, of redress for their grievances, 
and of maintenance of their ancient rights. And 
while some of the pilgrims quoted the rhyming 
epistles of John Ball, some local man may have 
capped them with the doggerel which is preserved 
to this day as referring in its last line to the 
" naughtie fellowe " who was slain by the 
Dartford tyler : — 

" Sutton for mutton, 
Kirby for beef, 
South Darne for gingerbread, 
And Dartford for a thief." 



CHAPTER XI 

TALES OF THE SECOND DAY. DARTFORD TO 
ROCHESTER 

We are not toid how early the pilgrims started 
from Dartford. Probably they rose betimes and 
spent some hours in the little town, for the 
thread of the narrative was taken up at ten 
o'clock in the morning, when the Host pointed 
out that a quarter of the day was gone, and 
called upon the Man of Law for the next tale. 
To this the Man of Law at once agreed, but 
prefaced his story by saying that he knew no 
thrifty tales save those which Chaucer — 

'' Though he kan i but lewedly,^ 
On metres and on rhyming craftily, 
Hath said them, in such English as he kan, 
Of olde time, as knovveth many a man." 

Which statement he followed with a partial list of 
Chaucer's works, and also of other stories which 
Chaucer had not made into English, and which 
the Man of Law considered unworthy of such 
treatment. A prologue, praising wealth and 
lamenting poverty, led up to a statement that the 
''tale "had been learned from a merchant; and 
forthwith he launched into the dramatic and 
wonderful story of Constance, founded by 

1 knows - ignorantly, clumsily 

241 Q 



242 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Chaucer upon part of the Anglo - French 
Chronicle of Nicholas Trivet, an English 
Dominican friar who lived in the beginning of 
the fourteenth century. In following his original, 
Chaucer introduces religious reflections which are, 
perhaps, more proper to the Friar than to the 
Man of Law, and once he makes the slip of 
forgetting that the tale is supposed to be told in 
words, from memory, for he speaks of a castle, 
"of which the name in my text naught I find." 

At the end of this story the Host called upon 
the Parson, adjuring him ''for Goddes bones," 
and again, "by Goddes dignity," to tell the next 
tale. The Parson gently reproved him for 
sinfully swearing, whereupon the Host exclaimed 
to the whole company that " I smell a Lollard in 
the wind," and announced that the Parson would 
"preachen us somewhat." At this point the 
Shipman interfered — 

" ' Nay, by my father's soul ! that shall he not ! 
. . . Here he shall not preach : 
He shall no gospel glosen ^ here nor teach 
We liven all m the great God,' quoth he. 
* He woulde sowen ^ some difficulty, 
Or springing cockle in our cleane corn ; 
And therefore, Host, I warne thee biforn,^ 
My jolly body shall a tale tell, 
And I shall clinken you so merry a bell 
That I shall waken all this company ; 
But it shall not be of philosophy, 
Nor of physik, nor termes quaint of law ; 
There is but little Latin in my maw.' " 

The Shipman's tale was commended by the 
Host, who considered a moment before calling 
upon the next teller. 

' expound '^ sow 3 at the outset 



TALES OF THE SECOND DAY 243 

" ' But now pass o'er, and let us seek about, 
Who shall now telle first of all this rout 
Another tale,' and with that word he said, 
As courteously as it had been a maid, 
' My lady Prioresse, by your leave. 
So that I wist ^ I shoulde you not grieve, 
I woulde deemen that ye tellen should 
A tale next, if so were that ye would. 
Now, will ye vouchesafe, my lady dear ? ' 
' Gladly,' quoth she, and said as ye shall hear." 

She prefaced her tale by a devout supplica- 
tion to Christ and His virgin mother to guide 
her song that she might worthily speak in their 
honour ; then told the story of a little Christian 
boy, murdered by a Jew for singing *' O Alma 
redemptoris mater," as he passed through the 
Jewish quarter of his town, and how he continued 
singing loud and clear, although his throat was 
cut, and ceased not until a holy abbot had 
received him as a martyr, and had removed from 
his tongue a grain laid thereon by the blessed 
Virgin. 

For a while the company remained solemn, after 
the relation of the miracle, until the Host again 
began jesting and thus addressed Chaucer — 

" ' What man art thou ? ' quoth he ; 
' Thou lookest as thou wouldest find a hare ; 
For ever on the ground I see thee stare. 

Say now somewhat, since other folk have said ; 

Tell us a tale of mirth, and that anon.' 

' Hoste,' quoth I, ' be ye not ill y-paid, 

For other tale certes kan - I none 

But of a rhyme I learned long agone.' 

'Yes, that is good,' quoth he, ' now shall we hear 

Some dainty thing, methinketh by this cheer ! ' " 

^ knew '^ know 



244 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

At this, Chaucer began the tale of Sir Thopas, 
evidently a skit upon the stories told by the 
romancers of the time, from some of which he 
quoted many phrases and expressions. In brisk 
rhyme he began the tale, but he had only finished 
the first ''fit" of twenty-seven verses and was 
telling the fifth verse of the second fit, when the 
Host rudely interrupted — 

'' ' No more of this, for Goddes dignity ! ' 
Quoth oure Hoste, ' for thou makest me 
So weary of thy very lewedness ^ 
That, also wisely ^ God my soule bless 
Mine eares aken ^ of thy drasty * speech 
Now such a rhyme the devil I biteche ^ f ' " 

Chaucer protested against being hindered, since 
it was the best rhyme he knew ; but the Host 
would not be pacified, further condemned his 
poetry, and continued — 

" * Thou dost naught elles ^ but despendest '' time ; 
Sir, at a word, thou shalt no longer rhyme 
Let see wher ^ thou canst tellen aught in jest, 
Or tell in prose somewhat, at the least, 
In which there be some mirth, or some doctrine."* 

To this suggestion Chaucer gladly assented, and 
began the tale of Melibeus, after a short prologue, 
in which he asked pardon in case his version 
should be slightly different from other renderings 
of this well-known story. Though he gave it in 
prose, many of its sentences carry the lilt of his 
verse, thus — 

" A daughter which that called was Sophie. 
His wife and eke his daughter hath he left. 
Of which the dores weren fast y-shette. 
Three of his olde foes have it espied." 

1 ignorance ^ ache ^ commit to ' wastest 

2 surely * rubbishy '^ else ^ whether 



TALES OF THE SECOND DAY 245 

All of these lines occur within the first seventy 
words. The story proved a long and very dreary 
sermon on the forgiveness of enemies, but the 
excellence of its moral won the full approval of the 
Host, who heartily wished that his wife might 
have heard the tale. At some length he told of 
the woes arising from his wife's frequent fear that 
she was being insulted, and her taunting references 
to his own cowardice when he refused to avenge 
her fancied wrongs — 

" ' But let us pass away fro this matteer. 

My lord the Monk,' quoth he, ' be merry of cheer, 

For ye shall tell a tale trewely. 

Lo ! Ro-uchestre stant here faste by ! 

Ride forth mine owene lord, break not our game.' " 

Whereat the Monk was nothing loth, but volun- 
teered to do even more than was required — 

" And said, ' I will do all my diligence, 
As far as sowneth ^ into honesty, 
To telle you a tale, or two, or three ; 
And if you list to hearken hitherward, 
I will you say the life of Saint Edward, 
Or elles,2 first, tragedies will I tell 
Of which I have a hundred in my cell.' " 

Eventually he started upon a series of tragedies 
— of Lucifer, Samson, Hercules, Nebuchadnezzar, 
Cenobia, Nero, and others, including some of 
about his own time. For a long time the com- 
pany listened with more or less attention, but at 
last the Knight peremptorily checked the tales of 
of disaster, contending that it is better to tell of 
poor men raised to great estate and (as we say 

' tendeth ^ else 



246 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

nowadays) "living happily ever after," than to 
dwell upon misfortune. The Host agrees — 

" ' Yea,' quoth our Host, ' by Sainte Paules bell ! 
Ye say right sooth,' this Monk he clappeth loud ; 
He spak how ' Fortune covered with a cloud ' 

. ' it is a pain, 
As ye have said, to hear of heaviness. 
Sir Monk, no more of this, so God you bless ! 
Your tale annoyeth all this company ; 
Such talking is not worth a butterfly. 
For therein is there no disport or game. 
Wherefor, Sir Monk, or don^ Piers by your name, 
I pray you heartily, tell us somewhat else, 
For sikerly ^ nere ^ clinking of your bells, 
That on your bridle hang on every side. 
By heaven's king, that for us alle died ! 
1 should ere this have fallen down for sleep 
Although the slough had never been so deep. 

Sir, say somewhat of hunting I you pray.' 

' Nay ! ' quoth this Monk, ' I have no lust to play ; 

Now let another tell, as I have told.' " 

We saw that ** Rochester stant here fast by " 
before the Monk's tale was begun. That may 
have been when the first glimpse of the cathedral 
city on the Medway was obtained from the hill 
near Cobham Park ; and the reference to the 
" slough had never been so deep," indicates that the 
low-lying ground, now occupied by Strood, had 
been reached. On the Monk's refusal to tell a 
merrier tale — 

'' Then spake our Host with rude speech and bold. 
And said unto the Nune's Priest anon, 
' Come near, thou priest, come hither thou Sir John. 

^ contraction of dominus ; a title familiarly applied to churchmen 

^ surely 

^ were not = but for clinking, etc 



TALES OF THE SECOND DAY 247 

Tell us such thing as may our heartes glad ; 

Be blithe though thou ride upon a jade. 

What though thine horse be bothe foul and lean ? 

If he will serve thee, recke not a bene ; 

Look that thine heart be merry evermo.' " 

And the obedient Nun's Priest at once began the 
story of Chanticleer and his wife Partlet — the 
tale of the cock who was deceived by the flattery 
of a fox, and who saved his life by his wit. 

At the end of this story some of the old 
manuscripts give certain words of the Host to 
the Nun's Priest, but it seems doubtful whether 
they were written by Chaucer. They are more 
in keeping with what we might expect to be 
addressed to the Monk than to the Nun's Priest, 
and they contain one line which is exactly the 
same as one already used to the Monk. Further, 
they end with the lines-— 

"And after that, he with full merry cheer 
Said unto another as ye shallen hear." 

It seems impossible that Chaucer should have 
made the Host address "another," instead of 
giving his title ; and from the fact that this 
fragrment makes reference to the Nun's Priest's 
story, it seems probable that its writer had 
mistaken the address to the Monk for that to 
the Nun's Priest and had confounded the two 
persons. 

In any case, the fragment tells nothing of who 
was to be the next speaker, or of where the day 
was to end. 

We imagine, therefore, that it ended in 
Rochester, a city by the bank of the Medway, a 
much fairer river in those days than it has been 



248 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

since the pestilential breath of immense cement 
works have filled its valley. The city was full of 
interest for all travellers, and while our pilgrims 
are admiring its wonders, we may review their 
course from Dartford. On leaving that town 
they continued straight along the Watling Street, 
from which the present Dover Road bends to the 
northward, and does not rejoin the older line 
until just before reaching Rochester. The old 
road strikes across Dartford Heath, which is still 
a pleasant breezy bit of rough moorland and runs 
in a straight line for about three miles, then 
curves very slightly to reach Springhead, the site 
of an important Roman station, believed to have 
been Vagniaca^. From several points along the 
hillside we have wide-sweeping views across the 
fertile fields and hop-gardens of a rich valley, 
stretching away to the great woods of Shorne 
and Cobham, clothing the northward slope of the 
downs, over a low shoulder of which we are to 
reach Rochester. Through this peaceful tract 
the old Roman road and pilgrims' road runs as a 
good country lane, passing one or two hamlets, 
one or two sleepy wayside public-houses, and an 
occasional small prosperous-looking farm-house. 
High thick hedges of hawthorn here conceal and 
there reveal the smiling fields and well-pruned 
orchards, and the only passengers likely to break 
our meditations are the slow herdsman or 
shepherd, the waggoner with his stout team and 
heavy Kentish wain, built as large and ample, 
and with the same graceful curving lines as the 
prairie schooner of a new country, or perchance 
the farmer or his wife, driving to market in a 
general-utility gig. The road gently rises and 



TALES OF THE SECOND DAY 249 

falls, passes through the little village of SInglewell 
or I field, and continues in almost an absolutely 
straight line until it climbs into the green mazy 
recesses of Shorne Wood, a place of gnarled 
trunks with undergrowth of bracken. The fine 
old churches of Cobham and Shorne lie at least a 
mile away from the road, and Cobham Park, 
through part of which it runs, shows us nothing 
of the very interesting Roman remains which it 
contains. Passing through Strood the road is 
rejoined by the Dover Road, and for the rest of 
the way to Canterbury they are identical. Here 
also it is joined by a branch of the Winchester 
Pilgrims' Way, coming down the north bank of 
the Medway by Hailing and Cuxton, and here it 
seems quite likely that the London stream of 
pilgrims would receive many recruits. 

Strood itself was a place of much interest for 
the pilgrims, for it belonged to the Templars, and 
it had a hospital for wayfarers, founded by 
Gilbert Glanville, Bishop of Rochester, and pupil 
of Thomas of Canterbury, about 11 90. It was 
familiarly called Newark or Neworke, and the 
name is still preserved in connection with houses 
on the site, which also have some fragments of 
the ancient building. Some memories of the 
Templars and fragments of their buildings are 
preserved in the Temple Farm, near the riverside ; 
and Strood-born people are still roughly chaffed 
as being born with tails, a libel founded in a 
legend which is thus quoted by Lambarde from 
Polydore Vergil : — *' Becket (being at the length 
reputed for the king's enimie) began to be so 
commonly neglected, contemned, and hated, that 
when as it happened him upon a time to come to 



250 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Stroude, the inhabitants thereabout (being 
desirous to despite that good father) sticked not 
to cut the taile from the horse on which he roade, 
binding themselves thereby with a perpetual 
reproach : For afterward (by the will of God) it 
so happened, that every one which came of that 
kindred of men which had plaied that naughty 
pranke, were borne with tailes, even as brute 
beasts bee." 

Our pilgrims crossed the Medway to Rochester 
by the ancient wooden bridge which stood in the 
same position as the bridge of to-day, and they 
would look with interest at the works of the new 
bridge of stone which was then being built a few 
yards further down the river (where the S. E. 
Railway bridge now crosses). This new bridge, 
about 560 feet long and 15 feet broad, and "equal 
to any in England, excepting the bridges of the 
metropolis," was opened in 1392. Though all 
traces of its structure have disappeared, the lands 
given by good Sir Robert Knolles for its support 
still bring revenue to the Bridge Wardens, and 
there are still some remains of the Bridge Chapel 
founded by John of Cobham for the use of way- 
farers, endowed out of the bridge estates, with 
three chaplains who were to say three masses 
every day, at five o'clock, at eight o'clock, and at 
eleven o'clock, ''that travellers might have an 
opportunity of being present at these offices." It 
is not absolutely certain that this chapel was open 
when Chaucer's pilgrims passed in 1387. If not, 
it was probably building, and, later it was so 
largely used by pilgrims as to have acquired the 
local name of the Pilgrims' Chapel. The city 
was then completely walled and had a Broadgate, 



TALES OF THE SECOND DAY 251 

Southgate, and Cheldegate. Parts of the wall 
may still be seen In bye-lanes on both sides of 
the High Street beyond the cathedral. The 
castle, said to have existed long before Norman 
times, and greatly strengthened by Gundulph the 
building archbishop, who erected most of what 
remains to-day as the finest piece of Norman 
domestic architecture in England, would attract 
attention before Rochester was reached. The 
cathedral, rebuilt, and the priory founded by the 
same Gundulph, who " never rested building and 
begging, tricking and garnishing, till he had 
advanced this his creature to the just wealth, 
beautie, and estimation of a right Popish Priorle," 
were full of interest. There was the tomb of 
St Paullnus, though its great silver shrine had 
been coined into money to pay the expenses of 
the house In time of trouble ; there was the 
tomb of the Saxon St Ythamar, and the shrine of 
St William of Rochester, canonised in 1256, 
'*with Indulgence to all such as would offer at his 
tomb." In the beautiful undercroft or crypt were 
many chapels and altars, including those to St 
Mary, St Catherine, and St Edmund. Of 
churches, Rochester had St Clements, of which 
nothing now remains, St Nicholas, a fine old 
building, still nestling under the shadow of the 
north-west corner of the cathedral, and St 
Margaret's, which still has records as far back as 
A.D. 1272, though the present building only 
dates from 1824. St Catherine's hospital for 
poor folk, founded by Symond Potyn, of the 
Crown Inn, in 13 16, and standing in Eastgate, 
near the foot of Star Hill, would also attract the 
pilgrims' attention. Of inns for the accommoda- 



252 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

tion of travellers there was probably good choice, 
for we know that there was a ''Crown" on 
almost the same site as the present inn of that 
name in a.d. 1316, and that the names of the 
Bull and of the King's Head have been used 
continuously for hostelries on the same sites 
since at least as early as a.d. 1450. 



CHAPTER XII 

TALES OF THE THIRD DAY. ROCHESTER TO 
OSPRINGE 

As the tales of the second day finished, so those 
assigned to the third day begin without any 
local reference. From evidence suggested at the 
beginning of the record of the second day we 
may imagine that the pilgrims' habit was to rise 
early and devote the first morning hours to sight- 
seeing and religious exercises. For this there 
was ample scope in Rochester. 

The first story of the third day (supposing 
the generally accepted arrangement to be correct) 
is that of the Doctor of Physic, which has no 
introduction save the words — *'heere folweth the 
Phisiciens Tale." Compared with some of the 
others it is short (less than three hundred lines), 
and gives a straightforward version of the slaying 
of Virginia by her father, to save her virtue. 

At its ending, the Host broke into strong 
invective against the unjust judge and all who 
had plotted against Virginia ; praised the Doctor 
for his tale ; and invoked the blessing of God 
and St Mary upon all his medicaments. At 

253 



254 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

the same time he lamented the sorrow of the 
story — • 

*' ' But well I woot ^ thou doost ^ my heart to erme ^ 
That I almost have caught a cardynacle.* 
By corpus bones ! but ^ I have triacle,^ 
Or else a draught of moist and corny ale, 
Or but^ I hear anon a merry tale, 
Mine heart is lost, for pity of this maid. 
Thou beel amy^ thou Pardoner,' he said, 
' Tell us some mirth, or japes right anon ! ' " 

The Pardoner was nothing loth, and replied — 

" ' It shall be done,' quoth he, * by Saint Ronyon ! 
But first,' quoth he, ' here at this ale stake 
I will both drink and eaten of a cake.' 

And right anon the gentles 'gun to cry, 
' Nay ! Let him tell us of no ribaldry ; 
Tell us some moral thing, that we may leere ^ 
Some wit,^ and thenne will we gladly hear.' 

' I grant, y-wis,' ^^ quoth he, ' but I may think 
Upon some honest thing, while that I drink.' " 

One would gladly have a clue to the ''ale stake" 
which the pilgrims were passing just at this time, 
and know whether any successor stands in the 
same spot, to refresh the weary traveller. But 
no information remains save that it was some- 
where between Rochester and Ospringe. 

In his long prologue the Pardoner very 
frankly told the fraudulent means by which he 
drew an ample living from a religious and 
credulous people, as has been set forth, in 
Chaucer's own words, in Chapter IX. With 
the words — 

'' For though myself be a full vicious man 
A moral tale yet I you telle can," 



' know 


^ unless 


^ learn 


^ makest 


^ medicine 


^ wisdom 


^ grieve 


' bastard French — good 


'" certainly 


^ heart disease 


friend 





TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 255 

he began a story of three riotous youths who, 
hearing that Death was in a neighbouring 
village, swore to meet and kill him. An old 
man whom they questioned pointed out a tree 
under which they would find Death lying, but 
they really found great store of money. The 
two elder youths decided to watch the treasure, 
while the third went to the city for food and 
drink, that they might carry home the money 
after nightfall. The two planned to stab the 
third, on his return, that they might have all the 
treasure, while their messenger decided to poison 
his two fellows, that all the wealth might be his 
own. Thus they all died before benefiting by 
their unexpected wealth, and so gave point to the 
moral, '' Radix malorum est Ctcpiditas " — cupidity 
is the root of all evil — which the Pardoner 
declared was his invariable text. At the end of 
his story he began (as was his wont) to beg for 
money in return for the privilege of kissing his 
relics and receiving absolution. He pressed the 
Host to come first — 

'' For he is most enveloped in sin," 

whereupon the Host answered very emphatically 
and very coarsely, until, seeing the Pardoner was 
vexed — 

" So wroth was he no word ne would he say 
' Now,' quoth our Host, ' I will no longer play 
With thee, ne with none other angry man.' 
But right anon the worthy Knight began. 
When that he saw that all the people lough,^ 
' No more of this, for it is right enough ! 
Sir Pardoner, be glad and merry of cheer ; 
And ye, sir Host, that been to me so dear, 

' laughed 



256 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

T pray you that you kiss the Pardoner ; 
And Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee near, 
And as we diden, let us laugh and play.' 
Anon they kissed, and riden ^ forth their way." 

No connecting link has been preserved between 
this scene and the Wife of Bath's tale, which is 
nowadays placed immediately following. The 
order is probably correct, but connecting matter 
may have been lost, or perhaps was never 
written. 

The Wife of Bath began her story with the 
longest prologue or preachment allowed to any 
of the pilgrims. Stating that she had already 
had five husbands and was looking out for a 
sixth, she took up with much vigour and some 
skill, the case of Matrimony versus Celibacy. 
Some interesting side-lights were thrown upon 
the lady's character and experiences, and although 
the prologue was really a long socio-religious 
dissertation, its frankness and naweU relieved it 
from any possible suggestion of dulness. 
Through a talk recorded in eight hundred and 
thirty lines she met with no interruption : but 
when she reached the conclusion and said, 

'' Now will I say my tale, if ye will hear," 

the Friar laughed, and suggested that the talk 
had been rather long for a mere preamble — 
whereupon the Summoner turned upon him : — 

" ' Lo,' quoth the Summoner, ' Goddes armes two ! 
A frere ^ will intermit him ever-mo. 
Lo, goode men, a fly, and eke a frere,^ 
Will fall in every dishe and mateere ^ 
What speak'st thou of " preambulatioun ? *' 
What ? amble, or trot, or peace, or go sit down ! 

1 rode "^ friar '^ affair 




SIDE GATEWAY, DAVINGTON PKIOKY. 




DAVINGTON PRIORY, NEAR FAVERSHAM. 



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 257 

Thou lettest ^ our disport in this manere.' 
' Yea, wilt thou so, sir Summoner ? ' quoth the Frere ; 
* Now, by my faith ! I shall, ere that T go, 
Tell of a summoner such a tale or two 
That all the folk shall laughen in this place.' 
' Now elles, Frere, ^ I beshrew thy face,' 
Quoth this Summoner, ' and I beshrewe me 
But if I telle tales two or three, 
Of frei'es^ ere I come to Sittingbourne, 
That I shall make thine hearte for to mourn 
For well I woot ^ thy patience is gone.' " 

The Host authoritatively interfered at this point, 
telling them that they are behaving like drunken 
men, and bidding them let the woman tell her 
tale ; and turning to the lady, he added — 

" ' Do, dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.' 
' Al ready, sir,' quoth she, ' right as you list ; 
If I have license of this worthy Frere.' 
' Yes, dame,' quoth he, ' tell forth, and I will hear.' '' 

The important point in this link is the mention of 
Sittingbourne, as if there were time to tell at least 
a tale or two before reaching there. Thus the 
Wife's tale must have been early in the third day 
(if our four-day supposition is correct), and it 
must come after the Monk's tale, which is intro- 
duced by a reference to Rochester. As there is a 
Cold Arbour"* about two miles west of Sitting- 
bourne, it is just within the possibilities that its 
name recalls the very halting-place where Chaucer 
intended to lay this scene ; and it is possible to 
read the Summoner's injunction to "go sit down " 
as evidence that this part of the story, at any rate, 
was at a halting-place. However that may be, 
the Wife of Bath's tale, though only half the 

' hinderest ^ f^i^r 3 j^^qw ■* See Chapter XV. 

R 



258 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

length of her prologue, was an interesting, well- 
told story of a knight of King Arthur's court, 
justly condemned to death, and respited for a year 
at the Queen's urgent petition, on condition that 
at the end of the year he should return and say 
what women most desire. He sought through 
many lands, and at last obtained the answer from 
an old and ugly woman, on his promise that if the 
answer proved acceptable he would grant her first 
request. The request was that he would marry 
her ; but after doing so, he lamented his fate, 
whereupon she reasoned with him at some length, 
and finally bade him choose to have her, old, ugly, 
and virtuous ; or young, fair, and a wanton. At 
length he said she was so wise that he would 
leave the choice to her, whereupon she told him 
that as he had thus given her the mastery, she would 
change herself into a young and beautiful woman, 
and would be virtuous also. This was one of the 
"happy ever after" stories, which the teller 
finished with a wish that Christ would give good 
husbands to us all, and grace to bear with those 
we wed — 

" And eke, I pray Jesu to short their lives 
That not will be governed by their wives ; 
And old and angry niggards of dispence,i 
God send them soone very pestilence ! " 

Through all this story, the "worthy limitor, this 
noble Friar," had made a kind of "lowering 
chiere " upon the Summoner ; but confined his ill- 
temper to black looks until the tale was done, and 
"no villain's word as yet to him spake he." As 
the story ended, he turned to compliment the 

' expenditure 



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 259 

Wife of Bath on the way in which she had 
handled matters of great dialectical difficulty — 

" ' But, dame, here as we ride by the way, 
Us needeth not to speaken but of game, 
And leave authoritees, in Goddes name, 
To preaching and to schole of clcrgye. 
And if it like to this companye 
I will you of a summoner tell a game. 
Pardee^ ye may well knowe by the name 
That of a summoner may no good be said. 
I pray that none of you be ill apaid,i — 
A summoner is a runner up and doun 
With mandements^ for fornicatioun, 
And is y-beat at every townes end.' 

Our Host then spake, ' A, sir, you should be 
hende ^ 
And courteous, as a man of your estate. 
In company ; we will have no debate ! 
Telleth your tale, and let the Summoner be.' 
' Nay,' quoth the Summoner, ' let him say to me 
What so him list,'^ — when it com'th to my lot. 
By God ! I shall him quiten every grot ! 
I shall him tellen which a great honour 
It is to be a flattering limitour ; 
And his office I shall him tell y-wis.' ^ 
Our Host answerde, ' Peace ! no more of this ! ' 
And after this he said unto the Frere, 
' Tell forth your tale my leeve^ master dear.' " 

With right good-will — -or, rather, ill-will — the 
Friar then began the story of a rascally summoner 
who met and communed with a fiend in the form 
of a yeoman and was eventually carried to hell. 
The Sumrnoner listened with such patience as he 
miofht, but at its close — 



't> 



"This Summoner in his stirrups highe stood 
Upon this Frere his hearte was so wood,^ 

' pleased, satisfied " polite '-' certainly ' mad 

'^ summonses ■• wills ^ loved 



26o CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

That like an aspen leaf he quook ^ for ire. 

*Lordings,' quoth he, 'but one thing I desire — 
I you beseech that of your courtesye 
Since you have heard this false Frere lie, 
As suffereth me I may my tale tell. 
This Frere boasteth that he knoweth hell, 
And God it woot^ that it is little wonder 
Freres and fiendes be but lyte ^ asunder ' " 

And so forth, with certain unsavoury details — 
and concluded — 

'' God save you alle, save this cursed Frere ! 
My prologue will I end in this manere.'' 

He told a story, wherein a greedy friar was 
befooled by a sick man from whom he was 
endeavouring by threat or persuasion to secure 
contribution of money or goods. The last line 
runs — 

" My tale is doon, — we been almoost at town." 

From previous indications and from the fact that 
Sittingbourne is two-thirds of the way from 
Rochester to Ospringe, we may presume that the 
town in question was Sittingbourne. Probably a 
halt was made there, and the party was again in 
motion before the Host addressed the young 
Clerk of Oxford, chiding him for being as silent 
as a newly-wed maid at table, and asked him for 
his story in due turn. In this case the Host 
specified the nature and treatment of tale suitable 
for a pilgrimage — 

" But preacheth not, as freres do in Lent, 
To make us for our olde sinnes weep. 
Ne that thy tale make us not to sleep. 

^ quaked - knows ^ little 



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 261 

Tell us some merry thing of aventures — 
Your termes, your coloiirs, and your figilres 
Keep them in store till so be ye indite 
High style, as when that men to kinges write : 
Speaketh so plain at this time, I you pray, 
That we may understande what you say." 

The Clerk replied that he would tell a story — 

" Learned at Padua of a worthy clerk, 
As proved by his wordes and his work ; 
He is now dead and nailed in his chest, 
I prayed to God to give his soule rest ! 

Fraunceys Petrak, the lauriat poete, 
Highte ^ this clerk whose rhetorike sweet 
Illumined all Ytaille of poetrie." 

This reference to Petrarch Is especially 
interesting, in view of the fact that Chaucer went 
on a political mission to Genoa In 1373, and may 
have met Petrarch, who spent his last months In 
Arqua, some twelve miles from Padua, who was 
certainly there during most of 1373, and who died 
there on July 18, 1374. He was crowned poet 
laureate in Rome on Easter Sunday of 1341. 

The Clerk's tale is Chaucer's renderino- of 
the story of Griselda, as written by Petrarch, 
after the original in the Decameron of Boccaccio, 
and a very beautiful, dignified, and poetical 
rendering it is. Though most of it Is a fairly 
close translation, there are passages in which 
Chaucer gives his own views or slightly elaborates 
upon his model. He evidently felt that the 
submlssiveness of Patient Griselda to the whims 
of her relentlessly cruel husband was like the 
extreme chivalry of the knight, old-fashioned and 
unjustifiable. At the end of Part V. he inserts a 

' was called 



262 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

verse which shows (as do many other lines in 
various tales) that this story was not originally 
written for the character to whom it is attributed 
when stringing the series together. A clerk 
would not be made to say : — 

'' Men speak of Job, and most for his humblesse,^ 
As clerkes, when them Ust, can well mdite, 
Namely of men, but as in soothfastness,^ 
Though clerkes praise women but a lite,^ 
There can no man in humblesse* him acquite 
As women can, nor can be half so true 
As women be, but ^ it be fall of new." ^ 

He introduces two stanzas which may give his 
own opinion of the changeful populace, and of 
which we quote a portion : — 

^* O stormy people ! unsad,'' and ever untrue ! 
Ay undiscreet,^ and changing as a vane, 
Delighting ever in rumbuP that is new ; 
For like the moon ay waxe ye and wane ! 
Ay full of clapping,!^ dear enough a jane ! ^^ 
Your doom 12 is false, your Constance evil preeveth ^^ 
A full great fool is he that on you leeveth ^^ 

Thus saiden sadde ^^ folk in that citee 
When that the people gazed up and down, — 
For they were glad, right for the noveltee 
To have a newe lady of their town." 

Chaucer completed the story with a couple of 
stanzas on the rarity of Griseldas nowadays, and 
offered to say a song, which proved to be a 

' humility ^ thoughtless 

" truth ^ rumour 

^" little ^'^ chatter 

'* humility ^^ a small coin, used in Italy 

■' unless ^- judgment 

•^ " it be fall of new" — it is a ^^ proveth 

hitherto unknown thing ^'^ belie veth 

'' unstable ^-^ reliable 



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 263 

summing up of advice based on Griselda's 
story : — 

"But one word, lordings, hearken, ere I go : 
It were full hard to finde nowadays 
In all a town Griseldas three or two ; 

For which hear, for the Wife's love of Bath, — 
Whose life and all her secte ^ God maintain 
In high maistrie,^ and elles ^ were it scathe,^ — 
I will with lusty hearte, fresh and green, 
Say you a song, to glade you, I ween ; 
And let us stint of earnestful ^ matere : 
Hearken my song that saith in this manere. 
Griselde is dead, and eke her patience, 
And both atones ^ buried in Ytaille ; ^ 
For which I cry in open audience, 
Ne wedded man so hardy ^ be t'assail 
His wife's patience in hope to find 
Griselda's, for in certain he shall fail. 

O noble wives, full of high prudence, 
Let no hum.ility your tonge^ nail, 
Nor let no clerk have cause or diligence 
To write of you a story of such mervail.^^ 

If thou be fair, there ^^ folk be in presence 
Shew thou thy visage and thine apparail ; 
If thou be foul, be free of thy dispence,i'^ 
To get thee friendes ay do thy travail ; ^^ 
Be ay of cheer, as light as leaf on lynde ^^ 
And let him care and weep, and wring and wail ! " 

At this point the Merchant broke into the 
conversation, and, taking his text from Chaucer's 
last words, began : — 

" ' Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow 
I know enough, on even and a-miorrow,' 



' sex 


^ at once 


'• where 


- mastery 


7 Italy 


'" expenditure 


^' else 


^ foolhardy 


'^ endeavour 


^ misfortune 


^ tongue 


'^ linden tree 


■' pensive 


'" marvel 





264 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Quoth the Merchant, * and so do other mo 
That wedded be, I trow that it be so ; 
For well I woot^ it fareth so with me. 
I have a wife, the worste that may be. 
For though the fiend to her y- coupled were, 
She would him overmatch, I dare well swear. 



y ?j 



He admits that all wedded men have not the 
same sad experience, but protests that it is 
general, and says that although he has only been 
married two months his sorrows in that time can 
not be equalled by a lifetime's troubles of any 
unmarried man. The Host suggested that out 
of his full experience he should tell something for 
the benefit of the company, but he answered that 
his heart was too sore for telling of his own tale. 
Wherefore he began the pitiful story of a wedding 
between old Januarie and '' fresshe May," in the 
beginning of which Januarie quoted from ancient 
authors on the dangers of matrimony, but made 
his own decision in its favour. The story told 
how the old knight was beguiled by his young 
wife and her young lover ; which caused the 
Host to make comment on the failings of women, 
concluding : — 

'' I have a wife, though that she poore be ; 
But of her tongue a labbing^ shrew is she ; 
And yet she hath a heap of vices mo, 

For an ^ I shoulde reckon every vice 
Which that she hath, y-wis ^ I were too nyce ; ^ 
And cause why, it should reported be, 
And told to her of ^ some of this meynee," 

' know ■''' foolish 

'^ babbling •> by 

''if ' large party 
* I guess 



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 265 

Of 1 whom it needeth not for to declare 
(Since women konnen '^ outen ^ such chaffare),^ 
And eke my wit sufficeth not thereto, 
To tellen all, wherefor my tale is do." 

By this time we imagine that the pilgrims 
had reached Ospringe, the third sleeping-place of 
their journey. The close of the last chapter told 
of the things which would interest them in 
Rochester, and as Friday was market day, they 
probably chaffered awhile at some of the stalls, 
after attending early mass at the Bridge Chapel and 
seeing the sights. When they left the little city 
(for it was almost exactly half a mile long by a 
quarter-mile w^ide within the walls) they passed 
through a short stretch of low swampy ground 
toward Chatham, where their road made a curve 
to the left, parallel with a winding of the river, 
then bending sharply to the right, sought the 
straight line loved by the Roman engineers. 
Chatham, in the pilgrims' days had a hospital 
of St Bartholomew, founded by Gundulph, with 
altars to St James and St Giles. But it had 
also a much more wonderful matter in the shape 
of a statue of the Virgin Mary, known as Our 
Lady of Chatham, of which the following story is 
condensed from Lambarde : — The dead body of a 
man, probably shipwrecked, was washed ashore in 
Chatham parish, and buried in the churchyard. 
Whereupon the effigy rose at night, went to the 
house of the parish clerk, and awakened him, 
telling him ''that there was lately buried (near to 
the place where she was honoured) a sinful 
person, which so offended her eye with his 

^ by ■" are known to publish "' matter 



266 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

ghastly grinning, that unless he were removed, 
she could not but (to the great grief of good 
people) withdraw herself from that place, and 
cease her wonted miraculous working amongst 
them. And therefore she willed him to go with 
her, to the end that (by his help) she might take 
him up and cast him again Into the river." 

The clerk consented, " but the good Lady 
(not wonted to walk) waxed weary of the labour, 
and therefore was enforced for very want of 
breath to sit down on a bush by the way, and 
there to rest her. And this place (forsooth), as 
also the whole track of their journey (remaining 
ever after a green path), the town dwellers were 
wont to shew." 

The corpse was duly disinterred and thrown 
into the river, and " Our Lady shrank again into 
her shrine." The sinful body floated about for 
some days and at length was taken up by the 
people of Gillingham, and burled in their church- 
yard. " But see what followeth upon It : not only 
the rood of Gillingham (say they), that a while 
before was busy In bestowing miracles, was now 
deprived of all that his former virtue, but also 
the very earth and place where this carcase was 
laid, did continually for ever after, settle and sink 
downward." 

Leaving Chatham we climb the height of 
Chatham Hill, from which there Is an extensive 
view of the mouth of the Medway and its 
marshes, the valley of the Swale and the Isle of 
Sheppey, and take a pleasant but not very 
eventful course for four miles to Rainham. The 
"chapel of Rainham" was a place of some 
sanctity, and the church still preserves some old 



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 267 

brasses and monuments, though not of such early 
date as the pilgrims' times. Another mile brings 
us to Moor Street, a tiny hamlet where our 
thirsty pilgrims probably found an "ale-stake," 
and in another three miles we reach Newington, 
with a large and interesting church, in which 
traces of good fourteenth century frescoes are 
still to be seen. Here, in the early Norman 
days a priory for nuns was established, but was 
suppressed when the prioress was found strangled 
in her bed. According to historians, the nuns 
were removed to Minster, in Sheppey ; but the 
local folk will have none of this, and point out 
Nunpit, a mile west of the church, where they 
say that the nuns were buried alive. 

Just beyond Newington the road ascends the 
small height of Keycol Hill, from the top of 
which there is a fine view over some of the most 
richly cultivated land in Kent, and half a mile or so 
further we pass within sight of one of those Cold 
Arbours which are sometimes supposed to be 
especially connected with pilgrims' ways, and 
which actually are very often associated with 
Roman roads, drovers' roads, and other ancient 
highways. A couple of miles further bring us to 
Sittlngbourne, with a church that is (except the 
tower) of eighteenth century date, though on a 
very ancient site, and with a Red Lion Inn that 
claims to be the direct descendant in uninter- 
rupted succession, of the house of same name at 
which Henry V. was sumptuously entertained on 
his return from Agincourt. Other ancient Inns 
still greet passing guests, though two of the 
most important have been converted to other 
uses. 



268 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Half a mile north of Sittingbourne is Milton, 
a ''royal villa" in the days of Alfred the Great, 
and a place of importance until 1052, when the 
partisans of Earl Godwin burned the king's 
house and ransacked the district. Of more 
importance, from the pilgrims' point of view, 
would be the fact that Milton owned, and owns 
to-day, as it did in Roman times, a famous oyster 
fishery. 

Bapchild, a village a mile and a half beyond 
Sittingbourne, is believed to be the place where 
in 694 Wihtred, King of Kent, held a great 
conference '* to consult about repairing the 
churches of God." It has a church which is 
principally Norman, and until the beginning of 
last century had some remains of a chapel, built 
by Archbishop Brightwald about 694, and 
probably in memory of the above-mentioned 
conference, but converted, as the shrine of St 
Thomas became popular, into a pilgrims' rest- 
house. Beyond this place the road is beautifully 
undulating, rising to a Beacon Hill, which was 
furnished with its beacon, its watchman, and its 
messenger in our pilgrims' days, and falling again 
toward Ospringe, a famous resting-place for all 
travellers. Before reaching the village we pass, 
on the left, some small remains of an ancient 
chapel. At the end of Water Lane, Ospringe, 
stands a half-timbered house marked Maison 
Dieu, and at the other corner of the lane is the 
Crown Inn, the lower part of which belongs to the 
same foundation. It was a hospice for travellers, 
founded by Henry II., in which he reserved a 
Camera Regis, a private apartment for his own 
use when journeying to Canterbury or Dover, 



TALES OF THE THIRD DAY 269 

and the local people say that the two parts 
were anciently joined by an archway across the 
lane. At the corner of the next lane on the right 
stands Chapel House, a modern building above 
ground, but with remains of a second hospice in 
its cellars and lower walls. Both these travellers' 
rests were in the hands of the Knights Templars, 
but they do not seem to have been used by 
Chaucer's pilgrims, for the Canon's Yeoman says 
he saw them ride from their "hostelry." 



CHAPTER XIII 

TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY 

The first thing we hear about the stories of the 
fourth day (perhaps when the pilgrims were at or 
near the village of Preston, just beyond Ospringe) 
is that the Host called upon the young Squire for 
a tale of love, alleging that he knew as much as 
any man on that subject. 

'' ' Nay, sir,' quoth he, ' but I will say as I can 
With hearty will— for I will not rebel 
Against your lust.i A tale will I tell. 
Have me excused, if I speak amiss. 
My will is good, and lo, my tale is this.' " 

The Story was of Cambuscan (not Cambiiscan 
as Milton afterward made it), a great king, to 
whose feast on the twentieth anniversary of his 
accession, came a strange knight, from the lord of 
Araby and Inde, with wonderful magical gifts. 
These were a marvellous steed of brass ; a sword 
which was irresistible, and which had the power of 
healing wounds made even by itself; a mirror 
which would show coming disaster, tell truly who 
was friend or foe, and reveal the constancy or 
otherwise of absent lovers ; and a ring which 



' desire 
270 



TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY 271 

enabled the wearer to understand the talk of birds, 
and to knov/ the virtues of all plants and roots, 
whereby all wounds might be healed. The mirror 
and the ring were for Canace, the daughter of 
Cambuscan, who was so delighted with her magic 
gifts that she must rise early the next morning 
and walk in the park. There she met a distressed 
falcon, weeping and wounding herself for sorrow 
at the desertion of her lover, and after hearing her 
sad tale, bore her to the castle, to salve her 
wounds and comfort her grief. At this point the 
Squire proposed to leave this portion of his story, 
telling later how the falcon recovered her repentant 
lover by the mediation of Cambalus, son of the 
king of Araby and Inde. Meanwhile, he would 
speak of Cambuscan's victories ; of how Algarsif 
was helped in his wooing, and saved from great 
perils by the brazen horse ; and of how Cambalo 
fought in the lists with two brethren in order to 
win Canace. He just commenced on Part HI. of 
his narrative, and had spoken but two lines, when 
the Franklin broke in with praise of the young 
Squire's eloquence, hoped for his long life and 
continuance in virtue, said he would give twenty 
pounds' worth of land to have his own son such a 
discreet young man, but regretted that that same 
son — 

" To virtue listeth 1 not entend 2 
But for to play at dice, and to despend ^ 
And lose all that he hath, is his usage; 
And he had lever ^ talken with a page 
Than to commune with an^^ gentle wight,^ 
There he might learne gentilesse^ aright." 

^ pleaseth 3 squander 5 person 

2 to attend 4 rather o courtesy 



272 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

The Host interrupted, crying "a straw for your 
eentilesse." 



" ' What ! Frankelin, pardee, sir, well thou woost ^ 
That each of you must tellen atte least 
A tale or two, or breaken his behest.' 
'That know I well, sir,' quoth the Frankeleyrj, 
' I pray you haveth me not in disdain 
Though to this man I speak a word or two.' 

' I will not you contrarien ^ in no wise 
As far as that my wittes will suffice ; 
I pray to God that it m.ay pleasen you. 
Then woot ^ I well that it is good y-now.' * 

' These olde, gentle Britons in their days 
Of divers aventures maden lays 
Rymeyed-^ in their firste Briton tongue, 
Which layes with their instruments they sung. 
Or elles ^ redden ' them for their pleasaunce,^ 
And one of them have I in remembraunce, 
Which I shall say with good will as I can. 

' But, sirs, because I am a bureP man, 
At my beginning first I you beseech, 
Have me excused of my rude speech. 
I learned never rhetoric certain ; 
Thing that I speak it moot be bare and plain. 
I sleep never on the Mount of Pernassoi^ 
Nor learned Marcus TuUius Cicero. 
Colours 11 ne know I none, withouten dread. 
But suche colours as growen in the mead. 
Or elles suche as men dye or paint 
Colours of rhetoric be to me quaint ; ^- 
My spirit feeleth naught of such mateere, 
But if you Hst my tale shall you hear.' " 

This ancient British or Breton story— of which no 
old original is now known — told of a good knight, 
Arveragus, and his faithful wife, Dorigen ; how 

1 knowest ^ rhymed ^ untaught 

2 oppose « else ;" Parnassus 

3 know ' read flowers of rhetoric 
* enough ^ pleasure '^ unfamiliar 




THE LAST STAGE OF THE WINCHESTER WAY, DOWN HARBLEDOWN HILL. 




THE BLACK PRINCE S WELL, HARBLEDOWN. 
Last of the. " Waterings " of St Thomas for both the London and the Winchester Ways. 



TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY 273 

that when the knight had been a couple of years 
away from home, a squire, Aurellus, told Dorlgen 
that he was dying of love for her, and she 
replied that she would ever be true to her husband. 
In confirmation of her decision, she declared that 
she would be the sweetheart of Aurelius when he 
was able to remove all the rocks of the Breton 
coast — but not until then. After a time Aurelius 
secured a magician who made all the rocks dis- 
appear, whereupon the lady was distressed nearly 
to death. Her husband asked the reason, and 
hearing of the vow, said that troth must never be 
broken, and sent Dorigen to Aurelius. He, 
struck by the high chivalry of the knight, 
declared that a squire must at least do as 
much, and bade her return, unharmed. Aurelius 
then went to the magician, offering all the 
money he could raise, which was only half what 
he had covenanted to pay, and begged for a 
year or two in which to pay the rest. In their 
conversation the magician learned the facts, and 
in emulation of the high-mindedness of the knight 
and the squire, refused to receive any payment 
for his services ; whereupon the Franklin con- 
cluded : — 

"Lordings, this question, then, would I ask now, 
Which was the moste free,i as thinketh you ? 
Now telleth me, ere that ye further wend. 
I know no more, my tale is at an end." 

The Second Nun's tale, which followed, has 
no introduction by the Host. It begins with a 
discourse on the sin of idleness, and says that to 
prevent such idleness ^he has spent time in trans- 

' liberal 



274 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

lating the story of St Cecilia. Then follow 
eight verses of a very beautiful hymn to the 
Virgin, from which the fifth may well be quoted 
as a specimen of the work, and also as showing 
one of the many minor slips made by Chaucer in 
stringing together the Canterbury Tales, for he 
makes the nun speak of herself as an unworthy 
son of Eve. 

" Now help, thou meek and blissful faire maid, 
Me flemed ^ wretch in this desert of gall ; 
Think on the woman Cananee, that said 
That whelpes eat some of the crommes ^ all 
That from their lordes table been y-fall, 
And though that I, unworthy son of Eve, 
Be sinful, yet accepte my bileve." ^ 

Next follow five verses on the meaning of the 
name Cecilia, and thereafter the story of the life, 
martyrdom, and canonisation of the saint. Then 
Chaucer continues : — 

" When told was all the life of Saint Cecile, 
Ere we had ridden fully five mile, 
At Boghton-under-Blee, us 'gan atake ^ 
A man that clothed was in clothes blake, 
And underneath he had a white surplys ; ^ 
His hackney, which that was all pomely^ grys,"^ 
So swatte ^ that it wonder was to see ; 
It seemed as he had pricked ^ miles three. 
The horse eke that his Yeoman rode upon 
So swatte ^ that unnethe ^® might it gon ; ^^ 
About the peytrel ^^ stood the foam full high 
He was of foam all flecked as a pie.^^ 
A male ^^ twofold upon his crupper lay. 
It seemed that he carried lite^^ array. 
All light for summer rode this worthy man, 
And in mine hearte wond'ring I began 

"go 

'2 breast-piece 
'^ magpie 
" wallet 
'5 little 



' exiled 


^ dappled 


2 crumbs 


^grey 


3 faith 


^ sweated 


* overtake 


^ spurred 


^ surplice 


'° scarcely 



TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY 275 

What that he was, till that I understood 

How that his cloak was sewed to his hood, 

For which, when I had long advised me, 

I deemed him some Canon for to be. 

His hat hung at his back down by a lace, 

For he had ridden more than trot or pace ; 

He had ay pricked ^ like as he were wood.- 

A clote^-leaf he had under his hood 

For swoot,4 and for to keep his head from heat ; 

But it was joye for to see him sweat ! 

His forehead dropped as a stillatorie^ 

Were full of plantain and of pellitory ; 

And when that he was come he 'gan to cry, 

God save, quoth he, this jolly company ! 

Fast have I pricked, quoth he, for your sake, 

By cause that I woulde you atake ^ 

To ridden in this merry companye. 

His yeoman eke was full of courtesie, 

And saide, sirs, now in the morrow tide, 

Out of your hostelry I saw you ride. 

And warned here my lord and my sovereign. 

Which that to riden with you is full fain, 

For his desport ; he loveth dalliance." 

These were the Alchemist and his man. The 
Host suggested that the Alchemist should tell a 
tale, but after some conversation, the Yeoman 
told the experiences of honest and dishonest 
alchemists, as has been mentioned in Chapter IX. 
The next point at which the thread is resumed 
(there is a gap after the Canon's Yeoman's tale) 
is at Harbledown : — 

*' Woot ye not where there stant a little town, 
Which that y-cleped ^ is Bobbe-up-and-down, 
Under the Blee ^ in Canterbury way ? 
There 'gan our Hoste for to jape and play." 

* spurred ** sweat 

2 mad '" still 

^ a name used for the ^ know 

yellow water-lily: (?) '^called 

also for the docken ^ the Blean Hills 



276 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

He asked for a volunteer to wake up ''our fellow 
all behind " ; then noticing that the fellow in 
question is the Cook, declared he should tell 
another tale. As he approached he looked pale 
and ill, and excused himself on account of a great 
drowsiness. The Manciple took pity on him and 
offered to tell a tale in his stead, but as he drew 
nearer, noted that the indisposftion was due to 
drink, and began to abuse him as a ''stinking 
swine." The Cook, becoming angry, fell from his 
horse, and — 

'' There was great shoving, bothe to and fro, 
To Uft him up, and muchel care and woe, 
So unwieldy was this sorry, paUid ghost." 

The Host excused him his tale and accepted the 
Manciple's instead, but said that the Manciple 
had been "too nice" in openly reproving the 
Cook, and warned him that the latter might 
retaliate some day, by speaking of reckonings 
that were not honest. The Manciple feared or 
pretended to fear such exposure, so he gave the 
Cook a draught of wine from his own gourd, 
which made peace at once ; whereafter the 
Manciple began his tale of how Phoebus kept a 
wonderful talking crow, which was white, as were 
all crows in those days. The wife of Phcebus was 
untrue to him, and when the crow told his master, 
he at once shot his wife. Repenting suddenly, 
when too late, he swore that his wife must have 
been true, abused the crow as a traitor, and — 

"... pulled his white featheres everyone, 
And made him black, and refte ^ him all his song, 
And eke his speech, and out at door him slung 
Unto the devil ! " 

' robbed him of 



TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY 277 

Wherefore all crows are black and have lost their 
sweet voices. By this time it was four in the 
afternoon ; they were entering at '*a thorp's end," 
and the Host said, ''now lacketh us no tal6s 
more than one," and, turning to the Parson, said 
"every man save thou hath told his tale," and 
called upon him for a fable. The Parson, 
quoting Paul's Epistle to Timothy, said he would 
tell no "fables and such wretchedness," for why 
should he sow chaff when there is a chance to 
sow wheat. They all agreed that it was well to 
end the journey and the day (and the week ?) 
with "vertuous sentence," so the Parson began 
what was really a very good, very moral, and 
very long sermon, dealing mainly with the seven 
deadly sins and their cures or antidotes, and 
having none of the vivacity of Chaucer's ordinary 
work. 

The sermon is followed by a section : ** Here 
taketh the maker of this book his leave," which 
is so contrary to the whole spirit of Chaucer that 
we are tempted to credit the suggestion that it 
was interpolated, after his death, by the monks of 
Westminster, who may have arranged his manu- 
scripts. The allocation of the tales to this day 
is unsatisfactory in many respects. We can 
scarcely believe that Chaucer intended to end 
his book with anything so solemn as the Parson's 
tale, but think it must have been intended as a 
foil to some brighter incident introduced by 
some one met on the way (like the Canon's 
Yeoman), or to a brilliant epilogue of Chaucer's 
own, describing the entry into Canterbury and 
visit to the shrine. 

From the incident of the Canon and his 



278 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Yeoman, we imagine that the pilgrims started 
right away from Ospringe without any explora- 
tion of the wonders of Faversham. Possibly 
they had seen them in the evening, after reaching 
Ospringe, or perhaps they intended to do so on 
returning from Canterbury. At any rate, most 
of the real pilgrims along this way must have 
visited Faversham to see its very famous Abbey 
of Cluniac monks, founded by King Stephen and 
Matilda ; worshipful for having a portion of the 
true cross, which was presented by Godfrey 
of Bouillon, and notable for being the burial- 
place of Stephen, Matilda, and their son Eustace. 
In the abbey farm, some pieces of wall and 
considerable foundations still remain ; the bailiffs 
house is now a public-house (the Globe, in Abbey 
Street), and a small portion of the abbey 
gateway is included in the house. No. 80. 
Abbey Street, where Arden of Faversham lived 
in the sixteenth century, and was murdered. 
The Priory of Davington, some half mile away, 
founded by Henry II. and Fulke de Newenham, 
in 1 153, is still in large part preserved, as a private 
house. It was a Benedictine foundation for nuns, 
but its properties were so small that it was known 
as the house of ''the poor nuns of Davington," 
and it escaped confiscation at the time of the 
dissolution by having previously escheated to the 
king for failing to keep its proper number of nuns. 
The church of Faversham, which was in the 
patronage of the monks of Augustine's, was, and 
still is, an unusually large, fine and interesting 
church, with architectural details, brasses, carved 
miserere seats, and remains of some frescoes of 
Early English date. In this church, too, was a 




O s 






TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY 279 

chapel of St Thomas of Canterbury, and there 
were altars to St Erasmus and the Saints Crispin 
and Crispianus. The two last-named were 
especially honoured in P^aversham, to which town 
they fled in the Maximinian persecution. 

If the pilgrims visited these wonders of 
Faversham, they would have more than one 
possible way back to their main road, but they 
probably rejoined it directly and passed the little 
church of Preston, which then belonged to Christ 
Church, Canterbury — the cathedral to which 
they were wending. For the next three miles or 
so, the road undulates a good deal, and at 
Boughton-under-Blean, where the pilgrims were 
overtaken by the Canon's Yeoman, it begins to 
rise to Boughton Hill, the highest point on this 
part of the road, from which the view, looking 
backward, is particularly fine, embracing much of 
fertile Kent and a portion of sea. For over a 
mile the road is fairly level and runs through a 
richly- v/ooded country, part of the old royal 
forest of Blean. Until 1840, when it was made 
into the parish of Dunkirk, this district was 
extra-parochial, and had an evil reputation as a 
haunt of highwaymen, footpads, and smugglers, 
and possibly this was the real reason why the 
Canon hurried after a large party, for safety. 
Passing through the hamlet of Upper Harble- 
down, we soon come to a long descent, beyond 
which is a very sharp steep rise to Harbledown. 
Here was the leper hospital, founded about a.d. 
1080 by Lanfranc (now used as alms-houses), 
with its chapel on the hill just above, which still 
shows much of its original structure. Both 
chapel and hospital will gladly be shown to 



28o CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

visitors by the sub-priors of the hospital, who will 
also point out the Black Prince's Well. This, 
the last of the Waterings of St Thomas, is neatly 
built over, and surrounded with an approach of 
flagged steps, and is said to have been last 
restored by Edward the Black Prince. On the 
keystone of the arch are his three ostrich feathers, 
and, curiously enough, the water Is still In some 
repute for its curative powers. The sub-prior of 
the hospital told us that he still occasionally 
receives small remittances from various parts of 
the Continent, with requests that he will forward 
a few bottles of the water, for the curing of 
diseases of the eyes. 

At the leper hospital was preserved a slipper 
of St Thomas, described by Erasmus as decorated 
with copper and crystal, and presented to every 
pilgrim to kiss. The slipper has disappeared (it 
was lately said to be In the possession of one of 
the Canterbury photographers), but a crystal, 
which Is believed to have been the one used In 
its decoration, and the collecting-box which was 
always shown with the slipper, may still be seen 
In the hospital. Here also are an ancient chest, 
said to have been one of the treasure-chests 
brought over by the Conqueror, and many 
interesting old utensils, treasured from the early 
days of the foundation. 

Just beyond Harbledown, the towers of 
Canterbury Cathedral come Into view, down a 
straight stretch of road ; and what first sight 
could be more impressive or gratifying to 
pilgrims who had travelled weary leagues with 
earnest and devout purpose ? Striking as is the 
sight to-day, especially when the great mass of 



TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY 2<Si 

the cathedral is touched by the very early 
morning, or the evening sun, it was still more 
beautiful in the pilgrims'' days, when there was a 
central spire surmounted by a great golden angel. 

At this point, devout pilgrims dismounted 
from their horses, to complete the journey on 
foot ; and if they were under penance, would 
remove their shoes, and even change their 
garments for the penitential hair-shirt, as we have 
seen was done by Henry H. On the right, as 
we continue toward Canterbury, is the ancient 
church of St Dunstan, where Henry made his 
change, and half a mile further brings us to the 
fine west gate. 

Though Chaucer did not complete his story 
of the pilgrimage, there is preserved to us the 
Tale of Beryn, in which we are informed that the- 
pilgrims stayed at the Chequers of the Hope, an 
old hostelry, of which some of the lower portion 
still remains, in the shop at the left of the entrance 
to Mercery Lane. 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE FALL OF THE CULT OF ST THOMAS 

The excessive zeal, the exaggerated enthusiasm, 
the marvellous cures, and the lavish gifts that 
arose around the early memory of Thomas the 
Martyr fostered a great cult, but they bore 
the seeds of decay and ruin. It was inevitable 
that interested and self-seeking people should 
largely supplant the humble and earnest in any 
position where gifts flowed so freely that life 
could be lived in ease, luxury, and ostentation. 
It was inevitable that the decay of faith amongst 
the ministers of holy things should lead to 
indifference or open scoffing and ridicule amongst 
the slightly-educated laity ; that pilgrimages 
should attract the merry, restless, reckless ne'er- 
do-weels ; and that the real or fancied powers of 
saintly images should be magnified for the 
obtaining of pecks of grain, fat pullets, and cock- 
erels, or more valuable offerings from credulous 
people. 

The story of the fall of the cult is a part of 
the story of the Reformation in England, and 
with that mixture of pious protest, unexampled 
plunder, and hypocritical sacrilege this book can- 
not deal. It is necessary, however, to touch 



THE FALL OF THE CULT 283 

upon some of the fourteenth-century factors, 
those which influenced or were influenced by the 
work of Chaucer, especially since these affect the 
underlying currents of honest faith and honest 
scepticism, which prepared the great fabric of 
Romanism in England for the direct assaults of 
the royal power. 

We have seen how the cult began, without 
the help of, and rather against the best efforts of, 
the influential men in the Church. We have seen 
how at the Translation every resource of 
unlimited wealth and power, every artifice of the 
very highest kind of advertisement and stage- 
management, were used to impress the people. 
We have seen, if only in an inadequate glimpse, 
something of the spirit in which two humble 
earnest pilgrims wandered from the heart of 
Hampshire to the heart of Kent. And in 
Chaucer's vivid painting we have seen the mixed 
motives, characters, and mental attitudes of 
nearly two score men of the world and of the 
Church, at a time when the cult had lost much of 
its original religious fervour, but still remained 
highly popular. We must now briefly consider 
some of the contemporaries of Chaucer who 
aflected the movement. 

The Vision of William [Langland) conce^^n- 
ing Piers Plozmnan came before the publication 
of Chaucer's best - known work. This was 
Langland's principal (and probably his only) 
book, and appeared in manuscript, in three 
modifications or editions about 1362, 1377, and 
1392. It tells of a blameless ploughman, like the 
one drawn as the brother of Chaucer's Poor 
Parson, who acts as a guide to the Temple of 



284 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Faith ; and in the second part he is Jesus the 
son of the Nazarene carpenter, who alone can 
guide to God the Father. It is in English, in 
unrhymed verse, it not only attacks the vices of 
evil priests and monks, but also the injustice and 
greed of the rich, the oppression and cruelty of 
the powerful. It took a great hold upon the 
common people. Great numbers of MS. copies 
were distributed, but its widest circulation was 
given by ballad-singers and reciters, travelling 
preachers, pedlars and chapmen, who used the 
latest popular news and politics as helps to sell 
their wares. A short description of covetousness ; 
slightly modernised in the spelling, may be 
interesting to compare with the work of Chaucer, 
already given : — 

" And then came coveitise, 
Can I him not discryve,^ 
So hungrily and hollow 
Sir Hervy him looked. 
He was beetle-browed, 
And baberlipped '^ also 
With two bleared e'en 
As a blind hagge ; 
And as a leathern purse 
Lolled his cheeks 
Well 2 sidder^ than his chin 
They chyveled ^ for elde ; ^ 
And as a bond-man('s) of ^ his bacon 
His beard was bedravelled, 
With a hood on his head, 
A lousy hat above 
And in a tawny tabard ^ 
Of twelve winter('s) age." 

This writer's advocacy of the claims of the poor 
was on the same lines as that of John Ball, '' the 

' describe ^ much ^ wrinkled ' by 

'■^ thick-lipped * wider « old age ^ coat 



THE FALL OF THE CULT 285 

mad priest," whose work in connection with the 
Peasants' Revolt has already been mentioned in 
Chapter X. It was strongly socialistic, but it 
also popularised that early free-thinking which 
was more classically associated Avith the names of 
Roger Bacon, Duns Scotus, William of Ockham, 
and others. The spread of these doctrines 
amongst the poor folk was greatly aided by the 
''simple priests" of John Wycliffe, who, in 1378, 
were sent wandering over the land ; and thus the 
socialists became tinged with certain religious 
ideas, while Wycliffe, probably against his own 
wish, became identified with the political revolt. 
Wycliffe was for a long time supported by John 
of Gaunt and his party, who were bent on spolia- 
tion of the Church, and who found his doctrines 
serviceable, although he was a reformer and not 
a confiscator. The Peasants' Rising, supposed 
to be partly the result of Wycliffe's teaching, lost 
him the support of the nobles, but still he went 
on with his work, and by the issue of many 
tracts in the common tongue, as well as by the 
translation of the Bible into English, did good 
service to the English language as well as to 
English thought. Some of the complaints he 
brought against the Church were that " the 
brokers of the sinful city of Rome promote for 
money unlearned and unworthy caitiffs to bene- 
fices of the value of a thousand marks, while the 
poor and learned hardly obtain one of twenty. 
So decays sound learning. They present aliens 
who neither see nor care to see their parishioners, 
despise God's services, convey away the treasure 
of the realm [in tribute to Rome], and are worse 
than Jews or Saracens. The pope's revenue 



286 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

from England alone is larger than that of any 
prince in Christendom. God gave his sheep to 
be pastured, not to be shaven and shorn." 

It is to be remembered that these charges 
were brought by one who was himself a church- 
man, and that Roger Bacon, William Langland 
(probably), John Ball, and others, were men 
within the Church aiming at the removal of 
abuses. Thus, the agitation was not against the 
Church itself, but rather by the Church, against 
certain definite and very serious evils. Many of 
the common folk, however, could not discriminate 
very finely ; they began to regard the Church as 
a mass of corruption, and faith as a subject for 
ridicule, so that the doings of Henry VIII., more 
than a century later, had a great measure of 
popularity, although they did much injury to 
some of the poores tpeople. 

Though the cult of St Thomas suffered some- 
what from the general odium heaping upon the 
Church, it had also its own special vices, follies, 
and shortcomings, and its own protesters. 
Notable amongst these was Simon of Sudbury, 
afterward Archbishop of Canterbury, who, in 1370, 
when he was Bishop of London, met and 
addressed a great crowd of pilgrims going along 
the Watling Street to the fourth Jubilee of 
Thomas. He roundly rebuked their folly, 
idleness, and levity, told them that they were 
guided by mischievous superstition, and that the 
plenary indulgence promised to devout pilgrims 
would be no good to such as they were. They 
all felt that he had uttered blasphemy ; one 
gentleman rode up to him, saying, " My Lord 
Bishop, for stirring the people to sedition against 



THE FALL OF THE CULT 287 

St Thomas, I stake the salvation of my soul that 
you will die a most terrible death " ; and the 
people cried, ''Amen, Amen." Eleven years 
later Simon of Sudbury was dragged from the 
Tower and slain by Wat Tyler's force, and 
people remembered the prophecy. 

A similar story was told of Wycliffe, that on 
December 29, 1384, he meant to preach in his 
church at Lutterworth against the commemora- 
tion of the martyrdom on that day, but was 
prevented by the stroke of paralysis from which 
he died a couple of days later. In spite of these 
supposed judgments of the incensed saint, there 
was a growing feeling against the luxury and 
idleness of the life connected with the great 
shrines, a growing disbelief in the miracles. Yet 
the pilgrimages continued. In quite the later 
years of the cult the gifts were great, and it is 
interesting to compare those at the shrine of St 
Thomas with those at the other principal altars. 
They were : Christ's Altar, ^3, 2s. 6d. ; Altar 
of the Virgin, £^1, 5s. 6d. ; St Thomas, 
^832, I2S. 3d. And in the next year: Christ's 
Altar, nil ; Altar of the Virgin, ;^4, is. 8d. ; 
St Thomas, ^954, 6s. 3d. ; in addition to which 
there was great wealth of gold and silver vessels 
and ornaments, and of jewels. Henry VII., 
considered one of the wisest princes of his age, 
and a great supporter of religion and learning, 
left in his will a kneeling likeness of himself, life- 
size, of silver gilt, '' to be set before St Thomas 
of Canterbury, and as nigh to the shrine of St 
Thomas as may well be." In 1520, at the time 
of the last great jubilee, when there was some 
fear that the pope might not grant the usual 



288 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

indulgences, It was pleaded at Rome that no man 
since the death of St Peter had done more for 
the liberties of the Church than St Thomas. In 
that year Henry VIII., on his way to the Field of 
the Cloth of Gold, stayed and fared sumptuously 
at the archiepiscopal palaces of Otford, Charing, 
and Canterbury. At the cathedral city he was 
entertained, with the Emperor Charles V. and 
the great nobles of England and of Spain, in a 
style that had never been equalled since the 
great feasts of the Translation. In 1532, when 
James Bainham, member of the Middle Temple, 
was brought to the stake at Smithfield, one of 
the charges against him was that he had said 
that Archbishop Becket was a murderer, and 
that if he had not repented of his crime, he was 
rather a devil in hell than a saint in heaven. 
And the sincerity of Sir Thomas More, who was 
the principal instrument in securing Bainham's 
death, is shown by his letter when, on the eve of 
his own execution some three years later, he 
wrote : "I should be sorry that it should be 
any longer than to-morrow ; for it is St Thomas's 
Eve and the Octave of St Peter, and therefore 
to-morrow I beg to go to God. It were a meet 
day, and very convenient for me." 

Between the deaths of Bainham and More, 
Henry had struck his first great blow at the 
Church, and at the cult of St Thomas, by the 
Act of Supremacy, which provided that King 
Henry and his heirs were the only supreme head 
on earth of the Church of England, with power 
to redress all heresies and abuses which may 
lawfully be reformed. In the next year came the 
commission for the visitation of religious houses, 



THE FALL OF THE CULT 289 

which reported great licentiousness and immorality 
in some of the smaller monasteries. As a result, 
all houses having revenues of less than ;^200 a 
year were suppressed. Thus three hundred and 
seventy-six establishments, of which it might be 
said that whatever their faults, they had always 
fed the starving and sheltered the homeless, were 
destroyed at one blow. And their great funds, 
left by pious people for religious and philanthropic 
purposes, merely served to add ^32,000 a year 
to the purse of a licentious king, with an 
additional lump sum of ;/^ too, 000 as the value of 
plate and jewels. 

At the end of 1536, all superfluous holidays 
which fell in term-time or in harvest-time were 
forbidden, the principal feast at which this was 
aimed being the Translation of St Thomas. In 
1539 came the Bill suppressing the greater 
monasteries, with confiscation of all their 
property to the king's use, and in 1547 there 
was a royal injunction that all objects of 
devotion should be so utterly destroyed ''that 
there should remain no memory of them in wall, 
glass windows, or elsewhere within churches." 
That this last injunction was especially rigorous 
against St Thomas and his memory, we may 
judge from the fact that on April 24, 1538, 
Henry sent summons, '' To thee, Thomas Becket, 
sometime Archbishop of Canterbury," to appear 
within thirty days to answer a charge of treason, 
contumacy, and rebellion against his sovereign 
lord, King Henry H. When the saint appeared 
not, the case was argued with the Attorney 
General appearing for King Henry H., and an 
advocate, provided at the public expense, for 

T 



290 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Thomas. The dead king proved his case, and 
on June lo, 1538, Thomas was condemned to 
have his bones publicly burned, and the offerings 
of his shrine forfeited to the crown. 

Of the spoiling of the sanctuary there is no 
complete contemporary record. We know that 
the jewels and gold of the shrine itself filled two 
coffers of such a bigness that each required seven 
or eight men to lift it ; that the other valuables 
filled twenty-six carts, and that the greatest 
jewel, the Regale of France, was set in a ring to 
grace the fat thumb of the King. 

The royal commissioners naturally found 
that all the miraculous images, pictures, wells, 
etc., were frauds, and the mob, incensed at their 
stories of deception, were prepared to dance 
around and applaud while the objects of their 
recent worship were being desecrated and de- 
stroyed. St Thomas's Well, in Canterbury, lost 
its healing virtue when the shrine was destroyed, 
and now we do not even know its position. 
Cranmer asked for a commission to examine the 
'* blood of St Thomas," which he "suspected 
to be red ochre." The king declared of Thomas 
that ** notwithstanding the canonisation, there 
appeareth nothing . . . whereby he should be 
called a saint ; but rather esteemed a rebel and 
traitor to his prince. Therefore, his grace 
straitly chargeth and commandeth, that hence- 
forth the said Thomas Becket shall not be 
esteemed, named, reputed, nor called a saint, 
but ' Bishop Becket,' and that his images and 
pictures throughout the whole realm shall be 
put down and avoided out of all churches and 
chapels, and other places ; and that from hence- 



THE FALL OF THE CULT 291 

forth the days used to be festivals in his name 
shall not be observed — nor the service, office, 
antiphonies, collects, and prayers in his name 
read, but rased and put out of all books." 

The records of Canterbury were completely 
destroyed, so far as they dealt with Thomas, 
and all through the country, images and windows 
were broken, frescoes were scraped away or 
whitewashed over, dedications of churches were 
chanofed, and even incidental references to the 
saint were obliterated. In some few places, 
as in the chapel of the Guild of the Holy Cross 
at Stratford-on-Avon, the pictures were pre- 
served, or were only covered with a whitewash 
which was afterwards removed ; but even in 
this case the words *' the translation of Saint 
Thomas the Martyr" were obliterated in the 
Constitution of the Guild. 

The reports of the commissioners are full 
of interest, but we can only briefly mention a 
couple of facts directly connected with the 
Pilgrims' Way from Winchester. From Hyde 
Abbey they report, on a Saturday : '* About 
three o'clock a.m. we made an end of the shrine 
here at Winchester. . . . We think the silver 
thereof will amount to near two thousand 
marks . . . the altar we purpose to bring with 
us . . . such a piece of work it is, that we 
think we shall not rid it, doing our best, before 
Monday next or Tuesday morning. Which 
done, we intend, both at Hyde and at St Mary's, 
to sweep away all the rotten bones that be called 
relics, which we may not omit, lest it should be 
thought that we came more for the treasure than 
for avoiding the abominations of idolatry." 



292 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

From Boxley Abbey (see p. 137) the com- 
mission reported, with regard to the famous 
Rood of Grace, that they "found therein certain 
engines of old wire, with old rotten sticks in the 
back of the same, that did cause the eyes to 
move and stare in the head thereof like unto 
a lively thing ; and also the nether lip in like 
wise to move as though it should speak." This, 
with the other ''soteltie" was carried into the 
market-place at Maidstone on a market day, 
when the people held ''the false, crafty, and 
subtle handling thereof in wondrous detestation 
and hatred." Thereafter these images were 
publicly destroyed in St Paul's Churchyard, 
London. 



CHAPTER XV 

THE pilgrims' WAYS : TO-DAY 

A GOOD deal of mystery and speculation has 
been woven around pilgrims' roads in general, 
and '* the " Pilgrims' Way from Winchester to 
Canterbury in particular. A lonely road, cling- 
ing to the side of the Downs through a distance 
of thirty or forty miles, carefully just avoiding 
most of the villages it passes, marked with a 
series of chapels and rest-houses, and with 
place-names that suggest the one-time existence 
of others, is an object of interest around which 
sentiment and poetry can freely play. And 
when we find it familiarly, lovingly known by 
the common people as The Pilgrims' Way, the 
one perfecting touch is added to the romance. 

For bringing this old track-way before the 
public, and for the preservation of any record of 
its line in certain places, we are indebted to the 
engineers of the Ordnance Survey. It is to be 
regretted, however, that they kept no notes of 
the evidence on which they adopted the name 
and the line in various places, and that they 
do not seem to have always recorded such parts 
of the Way as are at present out of use. We 
have taken considerable pains to check the 



294 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

observations of the Survey and of several writers 
who have done much good work in tracing the 
Way, only to find that many doubts are raised 
which cannot at all easily be settled. 

It is not necessary here to attempt to trace 
the Ways in full. That has been done 
incidentally in Chapters VI. and X. to XIII. 
These, with the maps, will answer most of the 
purposes of the modern pilgrim who wishes to 
walk, cycle, or drive over one of the routes. 

The Way from Winchester is shown on 
the ordnance maps in portions from Guildford 
to Bigberry Wood, near Harbledown. West 
of Guildford it is easily recognisable by any one 
who has explored the undoubted parts of the 
Way, as far as Farnham ; but beyond there it 
is very uncertain. It is well to remember that 
pilgrims to Canterbury came from "every shire's 
end," and that, therefore, every road which 
existed during the thirteenth, fourteenth, and 
fifteenth centuries, and which can still be traced, 
is in a sense a Pilgrims' Way. Therefore, any 
old road that ran to Farnham was a continuation 
and a feeder of **the" Pilgrims' Way. In our 
special sense, however, we need a road which 
is traditionally known, or is especially likely, 
to have been the main route from the great 
landing-place of Southampton, and the great 
sanctuary of Winchester, to Canterbury. 

It is well to remember that the pilgrims did 
not make their roads, but merely chose the 
''through" routes, avoiding as far as possible 
the tortuous network of lanes spread all over 
the country and uniting village to village. The 
best of such "through" roads, almost the only 



ii 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 295 

ones In fact, were the Roman roads ; some of 
which (if not most) were built on roads already 
existing when the Romans came. 

In Roman times there was a road from 
their port at Bitterne (Clausentum) straight 
through Otterbourne to Winchester, and the 
modern road, starting from the other side of 
the Itchen, and not running quite so straight 
as far as Otterbourne, follows the older road 
for the rest of the distance. Therefore, from 
Otterbourne we may be sure of the road, and 
to that place it is a little uncertain. 

From Winchester a great Roman road ran 
northerly to Silchester. It is followed by the 
modern Basingstoke road for about thirteen 
and a half miles, after which the modern road 
bears a little to the east. From Basingstoke 
to Farnham there is not a very direct road 
now, but there are lanes which only require 
the bridging of one or two short gaps to make 
a good connection, and there may have been 
an old, direct way by Grey well Hill, North 
Warnborough, Mill Lane, and Heath House. 
An alternative road, possessing some of the 
characteristics of the true Pilgrims' Way, runs 
from beyond (west of) Basingstoke, passing a 
mile or so to the south of that town and going to 
Coombehurst, The Grove, along the north side 
of Hackwood Park, by Polecat Corner, Four 
Lanes End, Long Sutton, south of a " Roman 
intrenchment," and by Dippenhall. The name 
of Ridgeway House, close to Dippenhall, prob- 
ably indicates a Roman road. 

The modern road from Winchester to Farn- 
ham runs through the Worthies, Itchen Abbas, 



296 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

Itchen Stoke, Alresford, Chawton, and Alton, 
and as this was a thickly-settled district in early 
Saxon times, there is no reason why this road 
should not have been used by the pilgrims. In 
our Chapter VI. we have followed Mrs Ady 
(Julia Cartwright), who in her book, The 
Pilgrims Way, gives this route, with a detour 
through Ropley and East Tisted, which is 
based on local tradition and the fact that there 
was a Pilgrims' Place, between Tisted and 
Chawton, where Pelham now stands. We have 
been unable to obtain any confirmation of the 
tradition from local people or from such anti- 
quarians as we have been able to consult. 

From Farnham the Way follows the London 
road for about three miles, to near Whiteways- 
end House, then one road goes forward along 
the Hog's Back to Guildford, while the other 
goes through Seale, over Seale Common, past 
Shoelands (said to be derived from shooler, a 
beggar), and through Puttenham, to which point 
it is an easily distinguishable country road. At 
Puttenham, opposite the Jolly Farmer Inn, it 
strikes across the heath, between a tumulus 
marked with a flagstaff and a tiny cemetery 
chapel. It is only a cart track, which in about 
a mile divides, right, to Compton, with its 
pilgrims' church, and left to wander a quarter 
of a mile and then strike the end of a well- 
marked lane crossing the Compton - Guildford 
road half a mile further, where are the home 
and picture-gallery of the late Mr G. F. Watts, 
R.A. From here it skirts and runs through 
some beautiful woodland for just over two miles, 
passing Brabceuf Manor, and striking the 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 297 

Godalming road at the foot of the hill on which 
stands St Catherine's. St Catherine's Well 
is passed in going to the ancient ferry, from 
which a track across two fields leads to the end 
of Ciderhouse Lane. A hundred yards up this, 
on the left, are two cottages, once the Pest- 
house, and from them the path is straight 
through the Chantries (a wood) to the height 
crowned by St Marta's Chapel. The path 
down the hill is clear for half a mile, then breaks 
into a lane to Albury. 

Probably along this piece there were many 
ways, for the hillside was unenclosed and un- 
cultivated ; the old road (probably older than 
the pilgrims' time), may have followed the line 
up Pewley Hill, north of Tyting Farm, along 
Albury Downs, Netley Heath, and Hackhurst 
Downs, past The Roughs, Newlands, and 
Combe Bottom. Probably some pilgrims went 
through Albury and Shere ; in which case they 

would continue throuo^h Abinoer Hammer, 

1 11 

Wotton, and Dorking. Those who took the 

Downs road we have suggested would go 

forward by Oaken Grove, White Down, and 

Denbies, skirt Ashcombe Wood, and pass 

Chapel Farm (where traces of a chapel yet 

remain), and so to Burford Bridge, where we 

know there is a ''Way Pool." 

From here, again, there were more ways 

than one. Those who have followed the 

pilgrims' route and written on the subject, have 

supposed they went up Box Hill, and along 

the road at the top, past the Hand-in-Hand Inn, 

to Pebble Combe : there, bending eastward, 

below Walton Heath and above the Hermitage, 



298 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

past Margery Wood, Reigate Hill, White Hall, 
and Gatton Park to above Merstham. Thence 
we get over two miles practically straight and 
clear. Below Quarry Hangers and above 
Whitehill Farm it looks as if the Ordnance 
Survey had set the next scrap of the Way a 
little too high ; but from here for the next three 
miles or more the Way is speculative, and little 
trace remains. It probably went by Marden 
Castle, Chaldons Farm, and Oxted Chalk Pits, 
for at Flinthouse Farm we pick it up again 
with certainty. 

To return to Burford Bridge. Though 
the line above given may be correct, there are 
ample traces of an old lane, running along 
the lower slopes of Box Hill, the Betch worth 
Hills, and the Buckland Hills, and having the 
exact characteristics of ''The Pilgrims' Way," 
so far as it is preserved. In places it runs as a 
lane, with hedges on both sides ; in others, 
it continues across cultivated fields just as a 
ledge or shelf, falling away to the south ; and 
again it is continued by three or four fine old 
yews in a line. In places, a modern road or 
lane has been run along it for a distance, and in 
some places there is trace of another track, 
parallel, a couple of hundred yards away. We 
have not been able to follow up these fragments 
as we wish, but suggest it as well worth doing 
by a local antiquary. 

Resuming at Flinthouse Farm, w^e think 
there is much to be said for the line by Botley 
Hill, past Cold-harbour Green, the highest point 
hereabout, to Tatsfield Church. A piece may 
be missing just beyond here, but our line 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 299 

comes out at The Mount, a little further up 
Westerham Hill than is shown by the ordnance 
map or identified by local fame. Our reason 
for this can be seen on the ground, though it 
is difficult to give in words or on a map. Walk- 
ing along the pilgrims' road of the ordnance 
map, along the section above Brasted, one can 
plainly see, half a mile or so further up the hill, 
the remains of an old straight lane. At places, 
for a field-width, it is missing, but again it 
becomes plain ; it touches Pilgrim House, which, 
suspiciously enough, is half a mile above the 
Ordnance Surveyors' Pilgrims' Way, and from 
there to above the rifle butts the hedgerows are 
preserved, grown together into a thicket. 

About this part of the line we have no doubt 
whatever. The road of the ordnance map 
may have anciently inherited the name, but it 
is not the old Pilgrims' Way ; and if any one 
doubts this, we suggest that he study the 
ground, in the late afternoon when the sun is 
well westering, from the Sevenoaks road, a 
little way out of Westerham. The contour of 
the old way then throws a shadow even in those 
parts where it has no hedges. 

It is not necessary that this amended line 
should be continued by way of Tatsfield. Even 
when crossing Titsey Park and Pilgrims' Lodge 
Farm (which is one, and probably the principal, 
of the ways) the line continues with a truer 
direction and a better level if carried above 
the rifle butts and Pilgrim House than if taken 
on the accepted road. 

Taking the road from Titsey Park, however, 
which is a cycling or driving road ranging 



300 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

from *' fair " to excellent, it runs a straight 
course to Chevening Park, where it has been 
completely stopped, and we must turn south 
for a mile, east for a mile, and northward 
again for nearly a mile, to get around the park. 
Even then we are a quarter of a mile below 
the old Way, which ran through what are now 
fields. So we keep the road half a mile eastward, 
then turn left up the Knockholt road, alongside 
one large field, and the next turn to the right 
puts us in the Way again, from which we soon 
get one of the most diversified views on its 
whole course. 

Through Otford, and to a little beyond 
St Clere (mansion on right) the old Way has 
been adopted as '* the London Road " and is 
in good condition, but beyond this point to 
where it crosses the London-Wrotham road 
it is a narrow lane, degenerating into a mere 
bridle-path and with the twigs of the hedges 
brushing a foot-passenger from both sides. 
Above Wrotham, there is a quarter of a mile 
excellently surfaced, then it becomes a good 
country lane, degenerating gradually. Beyond 
Trotterscliffe it crosses the Stansted road at a 
Pilgrims' House, and a mile beyond, it runs 
above the Coldrum stone circle, which still has 
some of its great uprights in position, reminding 
us of a pre-Christian time when the pilgrims' 
road may have been in use. Above Biding 
Place, past Bunker's Farm, and to Lad's F'arm 
the Way is a bridle track, crossed by various 
roads and lanes, in one place being merely a 
cart track through fields, but never losing its 
direction and identity. At Lad's Farm it 



5^- ■ •--'^'rsi 




OTFORD : CHURCH AND REMAINS OF ARCHBISHOPS PALACE. 




ST THOMAS'S WELL, OTFORD. 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 301 

becomes a metalled road again, and at Upper 
Hailing passes Chapel Houses, where the tops 
of two lancet windows may just be seen above 
a lean-to addition. These houses or cottages 
are diagonally opposite the Black Boy Public- 
house, and are not where marked on the 
ordnance map. Beyond this the Way runs 
nearly to Cuxton, where its individuality 
becomes lost in the Rochester road. 

The question of where the pilgrims crossed 
the Medway has given rise to much discussion, 
and some have been biassed, no doubt, by an 
attempt to keep them on "the Pilgrims' Way" 
as much as possible. We know that great 
crowds of the pilgrims crossed at Maidstone, 
and remembering the archbishops' palaces at 
Wrotham, Mailing, Maidstone, Leeds, and Char- 
ing, this seems a likely line for the greater number 
of pilgrims who could afford to make reasonable 
offerings along the way. Some may have 
crossed at Aylesford, where there was a good 
bridge, others at Snodland, where there is a 
line of churches — Snodland, Burham Court, and 
Burham — connected by a ferry and by a lane 
that soon joins the next part of undoubted 
Pilgrims' Way. Others may have crossed the 
ferry from Lower Hailing to Wouldham ; and 
an intelligent navvy tells us that the pilgrims 
crossed at North Hailing, where a stone cause- 
way still remains across the river, and is practic- 
able for active youths when the tide and the 
river are very low. 

There is no apparent reason why any pilgrims 
should have gone further north than Aylesford, 
even if they wished to visit Boxley Abbey and 




SKETCH MAP OF MAIDSTONE DISTRICT. 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 303 

had no interest in Maidstone, and wc think that 
those who study the question on the spot (not 
merely on the map) will be forced to the con- 
clusion that whatever the pilgrims may have 
done, the people who made the Pilgrims Way 
were ai77iing for Rochester, or, at least, some poi^it 
as far no7'th-east as Cuxton. Following the 
Way westward from (say) Boxley Abbey, the 
same idea is confirmed, that the Way is pointing 
to Borstal (opposite Cuxton) or to Rochester. 

We know little of the mediaiival interest 
taken in Kit's Coty House, which may have 
attracted people north of Maidstone, but that 
would not take them further than Aylesford. 

Joining the Way above Kit's Coty House, 
we find it run plainly, and almost in a straight 
line, just above the churches, past Boxley Abbey, 
Boxley, Detling, Thornham, Hollingbourne, 
Harrietsham, Lenham, and so to Cobham Farm, 
beyond which it has been destroyed by culti- 
vation to the width of two or three fields. Here 
we must diverge half a mile right, and about 
three-quarters of a mile along the Ashford road, 
bear left to Hart Hill, from which the Way is 
clear again, above Charing. Here it is a good 
road, and continues so until near Burnt House, 
where it takes a slight bend to the left, passes 
the mouth of a small chalk quarry and continues 
as a shady footpath (for about a mile, two 
footpaths separated by a few feet of distance, 
and by a hedge of sapling trees). Above West- 
well it has bits of well-made roadway, and 
at the keeper's cottage at the edge of Eastwell 
Park it seems to disappear. Five different 
people who lived within half a mile of this 



304 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

point, told us that the Way did not exist 
beyond here ; and, as a matter of fact, any one 
who wants a pleasant walk, from here to 
Boughton Lees, would be wise to take the foot- 
path through the park rather than to attempt the 
ancient Way. But it does exist. Its mouth is 
choked with mighty nettles, above which the 
bushes grow together. For a few yards the 
path is cumbered with the bottles, cans, and 
other refuse of the cottages, and as it proceeds 
it is crossed by fallen trees and partly filled 
with rank weeds and creepers. But the old 
Way is there ; and it would be a gracious act 
for the noble owner of the park to make it clear, 
if the local authorities neglect to do so. 

Beyond Eastwell Park our evidence is the 
Ordnance Survey, based on local information. 
It takes us by Boughton Lees, and above 
Chilham, with an unaccountable bend around 
Old Wives' Lees, and so to Harbledown. It 
is difficult to find, in places, and when found, 
is not quite convincing. To Boughton Lees 
the path is its own demonstration, but Charing 
is the last point in which we know the pilgrims 
to have been interested. The main road from 
there to Canterbury went up Charing Hill, by 
Challock Lees, Mollash, and Chilham, and 
there is no obvious reason why the bulk of 
the pilgrims should not take it, even if they 
wished to see Harbledown and St Thomas's 
Well before reaching the cathedral city. 
Again, as in the case of the Medway portion, 
dealing with the Way, as apart from the pilgrims, 
we suggest that the old road was not aiming 
at Canterbury, but ran (and still exists in fairly 




PART OF THE TITHE BARN, MAIDSTONE. 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 305 

continuous state) by Springrove, Wye, Brabourne, 
and Stowting Court, falling at Horton Park 
into the Stone Street from Canterbury to 
Lymne. This would agree with the idea 
that it was part of an ancient trade road, used 
for bringing the much-prized tin of Cornwall 
(in a time when bronze was the metal of the 
civilised world) to the narrow seas for shipment. 
This way is called '*th' old lane " by inhabitants 
of Boughton Lees, who say that they always 
consider it a continuation of ''th' old lane" on 
the other side of Eastwell Park (our Pilgrims' 
Way). At Brabourne it is known as " the 
old Roman road." 

We are aware that Mr Grant Allen, and 
Mr Charles Elton, whom he quoted, took the 
"Tin Road" through Canterbury to Sandwich 
or Richborough, but they did so after quoting- 
authorities to show that there were roads to 
and from Lymme, and calling Ceesar and Strabo 
to witness that the emporium of the Gallic 
merchants was opposite Boulogne. They seem 
to have been quite carried away by the desire 
to take the road through Canterbury, or they 
would not have used evidence pointing directly 
to Lymne in support of a conclusion, "consistent 
with the tin mart being near Thanet." " Opposite 
Boulogne " is surely more likely to have been 
Lymne, some thirty-two miles distant, than 
Sandwich, which was twice as far. 

We may now consider some general char- 
acteristics of "the" Pilgrims' Way. It has 
been said to be a " made " Roman road, but 
this seems to be quite a mistake, though it may 
have crossed a Roman causeway, or even have 

u 



3o6 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

run along one for a short distance in places. 
In its whole course, both where still in use and 
where deserted, we have seen no evidence of 
roadmaking earlier than quite modern times. 
In some places the old Way runs alongside 
the modern road, within a few paces, plainly 
traceable as a mound or as a hollow. Had it 
been a ''made" road, the modern one would 
have been made over it. We have seen some 
three miles of a most typical portion of the Way 
torn up, where there was absolutely nothing 
but grass and a few loose flints from the chalk, 
above the solid chalk itself. At several other 
points we have confirmed this, and where it goes 
over sandstone rock, the same thing occurs. 

In the day when this road was laid out, but 
little of the land was cultivated, and probably 
still less was fenced ; for cattle had herdsmen 
instead of hedges to guide them. 

The road was merely the shortest and 
most convenient way from point to point. It 
aimed at keeping on the sandstone or chalk, to 
avoid the worse footing and the denser herbage 
of the clays. It kept as level as it conveniently 
could without long detours, and it aimed for 
good crossings of the rivers (originally fords). 
At first the Way would be very wide, straggling 
and undefined, probably needing a guide or old 
experienced packman with every party. As 
cultivation pushed up from the valleys and men 
began to fence, they nat^arally took a line along 
the way, and thus it first became defined — on 
its southern side. It became a lane when its 
northern side was fenced : — not for the sake 
of defining the Way, but for preventing the 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 307 

straying of cattle into the crops. That the 
fencing was done after the making of many of 
the roads that cross the Way at right angles, 
we have evidence in the fact that in many cases 
where the Way crosses such a road, its line drops 
down the hill a distance of from five or ten to 
perhaps thirty yards. And this drop is almost 
invariably made on the eastern side, suggesting 
that the travellers who first defined the Way 
came from the west. 

The yews along the Way have had much 
comment ; it has been suggested that they 
were planted as way-marks, and it is said that 
they are commonly called ''palms" along the 
Surrey and some of the Kentish portions of 
of the Way, and prominently used in church 
decoration. There are some fine yews along 
the Way, but there are few places where they 
are so thick along the Way itself as on the 
hillside a little above ; no part of the Way has 
such a fine line of yews as may be seen in some 
of the hedges running up the hill at right angles 
from it ; and there are many parts of the Way 
where there is scarce a yew to the mile, though 
they grow well in neighbouring hedges. At the 
same time, there are places where fine, old, 
almost equidistant yews continue the line of two 
old lanes across a field or fields, and where 
they doubtless indicate that the lane once ran. 
Our inquiries along the Way have failed to 
find any one v/ho ever heard the yews popularly 
called palms ; and not one of the clergymen 
along the Way knows of this, or of the use 
of yews (except amongst all other evergreens) 
in church decoration. 



3o8 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

There is said to be, or to have been, a 
tradition that the Roman snail, or Apple snail 
(helix pomatid), was introduced by the Norman 
pilgrims ; but of this we can find no memory- 
remaining. Jeffreys, in British Conchology, 
1862, makes no mention of this tradition, though 
he gives and criticises other stories of the intro- 
duction of the species, which occurs in many 
places in Kent, Surrey, Hertford, Oxford, Wilts, 
and Gloucester. 

The connection of the name of Cold-harbour, 
and its variants. Cold Arbour, Windy Arbour, 
Cole-kitchen, etc., with the Pilgrims' Way 
seems entirely fanciful : and the suggestion that 
the name ''always" occurs along a Roman 
road seems much too sweeping. The name 
almost certainly means what it simply implies, 
namely, a harbour (shelter or refuge) which 
was not warmed. But the things to which the 
name was applied may have been various, and 
we think there is probability that it meant in 
at least one case a harbour for shipping, in others 
a house or shelter-place for travellers, in others 
a camping-place for herdsmen travelling to the 
fairs, and in others a cattle-pen or sheep-fold on 
a hillside. As to the second meaning, it has 
been suggested that the shelter was merely 
a grassy sward, provided with water, and shaded 
by trees, comforting in the heat of summer. 
In the alternative, it is said that there were 
wayside rest-houses like those in the Alps 
and in India, without any landlord or attendant ; 
but this is surely not a tenable idea on the 
Pilgrims' Ways, which were well provided with 
inns, ale-stakes, and free board and lodging at 




CHARING : PART OF THE ARCHBISHOPS' PALACE. 



THE PILGRIMS' WAYS: TO-DAY 309 

the monasteries, etc. Another suggestion, that 
the name applies to places where Roman villas, 
deserted about the fourth century, long remained 
as unwarmed rest-houses for travellers, belongs 
to a time earlier than our pilgrims, and need 
not be considered here. 

Many place-names along the road directly 
connect it with the pilgrims — Pilgrim House, 
Pilgrim Place, etc. — and others, such as Chapel 
Houses, will record, even after the buildings 
are gone, the one-time existence of a wayside 
shrine. Other names indicate the extensive use 
of the road in old times, and may, in some cases, 
be connected with the riff-raff of people drawn 
in the wake of the pilgrims. A few of these 
interesting place-names, taking them in order 
from west to east, are — Shoelands (shooler, 
a beggar), near Puttenham ; Tyting (tithing) 
Farm, St Marta's ; Chapel Farm, near Burford ; 
the Way Pool, Burford Bridge ; and Chapel 
Houses, Hailing. Near Puttenham are Roberds' 
(robbers') Moor, and Beggars' Corner. 

In addition to place-names, there are a few 
words in the general language which are said 
to be derived from the pilgrimage. A "canter- 
bury " was a traveller's tale or fable ; and the 
word is given in this sense in certain good 
American dictionaries as being still used in the 
United States. The Canterbury bell (campanula 
medium), a flower growing freely in the wild 
state in Kent, is said to have taken its name 
from the little metal bells which competed with 
the ampullae and the leaden "heads of Thomas," 
as signs of the Canterbury pilgrim. The pace 
known as a canter is a contraction of Canterbury 



3IO CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

gallop ; and '' cant " is said to have been originally 
applied to the hypocritical religious dissertations 
of those who had been to the martyr's shrine. 

Of the minor ways to Canterbury, which 
had some special connection with the pilgrims, 
little need be said. Many came from the 
eastern counties, concentrating on West Thur- 
rock, v/hence they crossed the Thames by ferry 
to Greenhithe, landing close to the grounds of 
Ingress Abbey, which was a grange of the 
Priory of Dartford. By more than one road, 
a couple of miles would bring the pilgrims into 
the Watling Street a little to the west of 
Springhead. 

There are traces of two '' Pilgrims' Roads " 
marked on the ordnance map as coming from the 
south-east. One (working from Canterbury) goes 
past Barton Fields, Hoad Farm, Patrlxbourne, 
Shepherd's Close, and forward until It is lost in 
Ileden Wood. The other is first marked near 
Great Bossington, five miles from Canterbury, 
whence It runs a mile to Ufhngton, then in 
'* traces" through Goodnestone Park, beyond 
which it bends below Chillenden. Other maps 
continue its line from a point a mile west of 
Tilmanstone to East Studdal. Both these 
seem far from convincing. We would like to 
know the evidence on which they were called 
pilgrims' roads ; and we are reminded that in 
one place, at any rate (Eastwell Park), we met 
an Intelligent gamekeeper who, while knowing 
a good deal about ''the" Pilgrims' Way, uses 
" pilgrim way " as a generic name for any 
horse road which Is scarce good enough for a 
cart. With him the term was equivalent to 



312 CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

bridle-path ; and he described several lanes as 
*'only a short cut, or pilgrim way.'* 

From Sandwich and from Dover the pilgrims 
followed the high roads with which we are 
acquainted, and from Lymne or West Hythe, 
they took the line of the old Roman Stone 
Street, which was followed from Salt wood Castle 
by the murderers. 



INDEX 



Abbot's Barton, 117. 
Abbotsworthy, 117. 
h. Becket (see Thomas). 
Aberbrothock (Arbroath), Abbey 

of, 99, 103. 
Abinger Hammer, 297. 
Acre, Church of St Thomas, 103. 
Act of Supremacy, 288. 
Albury, 134, 297. 

Downs, 134. 
Alchemist, 216, 275. 
Alchemy, mediaeval, 217. 
Ale-stake, 126, 254, 267. 
Alfred, King, 116. 
Alice Holt Wood, 125, 127. 
Alphege, St, loi, 
Alresford, 117, 296. 
Alton, 125, 296. 
Andrew, Chapel of St, Boxley, 

137. 
Anglo-Saxons support Thomas, 

65. 
Anselm, St, loi. 
Arms, extemporised, 129. 
Arnold, the goldsmith, 82. 
Arthur's Seat, 135. 
Astrolabe^ Treatise on^ 145, 147. 
Augustine's, St, Abbey, 68, 100. 
Abbot of, 10, 11,31, 46, 50, loi. 
Aylesford, 301. 

B 

Baal, high place of, 134. 
Bacon, Roger, 285, 286. 
Bailey, Harry, 156, 236. 

313 



Bainham, James, 288. 
Baldwin, Archdeacon, 7. 
Ball, John, 239, 284, 286. 
Barking, Abbey of, 145. 
Bartholomew, Church of St, 1 17, 

135- 

Basingstoke, 295. 

Road, 134, 295. 
Battle Abbey, lawsuit, 30. 

Abbot of, 30, 31, 35. 
Bee Hellouin, 7. 
Becket (see Thomas). 

Gilbert, 2, 4, 7. 

Matilda, 2, 6 

Rose, 2. 
Belmeis, John, 8. 
Berkhampstead Castle, 21, 45, 52. 
Beryn, Tale of, 281. 
Benedict, 86. 
Benedictine habit worn by 

Thomas, 83, 84. 
Bentley, 127. 

Betch worth Hills, 134, 298. 
Bigberry Wood, 140. 
Biding, 137, 300. 
Bishop's Sutton, 118. 
Blackheath, 237, 239. 

Hill, 234. 
Black Prince's Well, 280. 
Boccaccio, Decameron of, 261. 
Boniface, Archbishop, 137. 

IX., Pope, 208. 
Borstal, 303. 
Boughton Court, 140. 

Lees, 304, 305- 
Boughton-under-Blean, 216, 279. 
Box Hill, 134, 297, 298. 
U 2 



314 



INDEX 



Boxley Abbey, 93, 137, 138, 292, 

301, 303- 

Abbot of, 83. 

Rood of Grace, 137, 138, 292. 
Braboeuf Manor, 132, 296. 
Brasted, 299. 

Bregwine, Archbishop, loi. 
Brito, Richard, 66, 76, 81. 
Bubastes, shrine of, 92, 
Buckland Hills, 134, 298. 
Burford Bridge, 134, 297, 298. 
Bush, ale-house sign, 126. 



Cambridge, clerks of, 150, 235. 
Cambuscan, stoiy of, 270. 
Canonisation, 80, 94, 102. 
Canon's Yeoman, the, 216, 217, 

275, 279. 
Canterbury, 42, 63, 139. 

Archiepiscopal palace, 288. 

Bells, 309. 

Cathedral reconstructed, 85, 
104. 

Crypt opened after murder, 91. 

District map, 311. 

Fire in Cathedral, 104. 

Mayor of, 69. 

Tales, date of, 149, 158. 
Carpenter, the, 174. 
Castles dismantled, 24. 
Catherine's Chapel, St, 132. 

Ferry, St, 132. 
^ Hill, St, 115, 132,297. 
Cecilia, St, story of, 274. 
Celestine IL, 11. 
Challock Lees, 304. 
Chantry Wood, 134, 297. 
Chapel Houses, 301, 309. 
Charing, 139, 301, 303. 

Archiepiscopal palace of, 288. 

Hill, 139. 
Chatham, 265. 

Our Lady of, 93, 265. 
Chaucer, Agnes, 142. 

Elizabeth, 145. 

John, 141. 

Lowys, 14s, 147. 

Philippa, 143. 

Robert le, 141. 



Chaucer, Thomas, 143. 
Chaucer, Geoffrey, 141. 
Abroad, 144. 

Buried in Westminster, 149. 
Clerk of the Works, 146. 
Commissioner of Roads, 146. 
Controller of Customs, 145. 
Controller of the Port, 144. 
Controllerships both lost, 146. 
Financial difficulties, 146, 148. 
Guardian of two minors, 145. 
In France, 144, 145. 
In Genoa, 144, 261. 
Leased house above Aid- 
gate, 144. 
Mission to Milan, 145, 
North country visit, 142. 
Page, 143. 
Pension, 148. 
As a pilgrim, 148. 
Portrait of, 153. 
Prisoner, 143. 
Robbed, 146. 
A soldier, 142. 
Secret mission, 145. 
Sued for a debt, 148. 
Yeoman of the King's 
chamber, 143. 
Chaucer's Pilgrims, 140. 
Men of the Church, 185. 
Men of the world, 152. 
Tales, 243. 
Works, 149. 
Dates of, 149. 
Globe edition, 154. 
Lowell's praise of, 150. 
Chawton, 125, 296. 
Chequers of the Hope, 281. 
Chevening, 135. 
Chevening Park, 300. 
Chichester, Bishop of, 30, 31, 35, 
36, 45, 46, 57. 
Road, 134. 
Chilham, 140, 304. 
Church, abuses in, 44, 45, 192, 
208, 282, 285. 
And the poor, 23, 
Authority of the, 10. 
Dedications to St Thomas, 
102, 104. 



INDEX 



315 



Church, jurisdiction of, 23, 29, 

43, 44, 47, 51, 57, 78. 
Property confiscated, 61. 
Property restored, 95. 
Churchmen^s extravagant dress, 

Ciderhouse Lane, 297. 
Clare, Earl of, 43. 
Clarendon, council of, 47. 

Constitutions of, 47, 54, 57, 60, 
62, 95. 
Renounced by king', 95. 
Clere, St, 300. 

Clerk of Oxford, 212, 213, 260. 
Clerk's Story, The, 261. 
Cloisters, the Canterbury, 72. 
Cnut, King, 116. 
Cobham Park, 249. 
Cold Arbour, 257, 267. 
Cold-harbour Green, 298, 308. 
Coldrum Stones, 300. 
Colley Hill, 134. 
Colombe, Abbey of St, 61. 
Compton, church of, 131, 296. 
Cook, the, 177, 178, 235, 276. 
Cook's Tale, The, 236. 
Councillors excommunicated, 61 
Cranmer, Thomas, 290. 
Crayford, 237. 
Cross, St, Winchester, 114. 
Customs of Realm, 44, 45, 47. 
Cuthbert, Archbishop, 100. 
Cuxton, 249, 301, 303. 

D 
Daccomb, 99. 
Danegeld, 42. 
Darent, 135. 
Dartford, 228, 234, 237, 241, 248, 

310- 

Priory, 238. 
Dartmouth, 164. 
Davington, Priory of, 278. 
De Broc, John, 64. 

Philip, 43. 

Ranulf, 58, 60, 64, 77. 

Robert, 64, 70, 74, 76, n, 83, 
85. 
De Brocs, the, 64, 66, 86. 

Excommunicated, 65. 



De Luci, Richard, 35. 

De Morville, Hugh, 66, 76, 78. 

Deptford, 233, 234. 

De Tracy, William, 66, 67, 75, 

76, 99. 
Dethng, 303. 

Dialects, Chaucer's use of, 150. 
Doctor, a travelling, 121. 

Of Physic, the, 178, 179. 
Tale of, 253. 
Dorking, 134, 297. 
Downs, 138. 
Dover, 59. 

Road (see Watling Street). 
Dunstan, St, loj. 

Church of, 97, 281. 
Durham, Bishops of, 44. 
Dyer, the, 171. 



Eastry, 59. 

East Tisted, 122, 296. 

Eastwell, 140. 

Park, 303, 304, 305, 310. 
Editha, St, 135. 
Edmund, Archbishop, 106. 

St, Chantry of, 238. 
Edward HI., 142, 145. 
Edward, the Black Prince, 142. 

Death of, 144. 
Egbert, 117. 
Elfwy, Abbot, 116. 
Eloy, St, 190. 
Elphege, St, 72. 
Emma, Queen, 116. 
Essex, Henry de, 31. 
Eugenius HI., 11. 
Eustace of Boulogne, 7. 

Prince, 12. 
Everlin, of Liege, 6. 
Excommunication, bishops', 62. 

Of councillors, 61. 

Of murderers, 95. 

Of the de Brocs, 65. 

Of vicars, 65. 

Threatened, 61. 
Exeter, Bishop of, 31, 35, 85. 
Extortion by churchmen, 44, 

45- 
Eye, Castle of, 21, 45, 52. 



3i6 



INDEX 



Farnham, 129, 131, 294, 295. 
Church, castle, palace, 131. 
Faversham, 93, 278 
Feeding, mediaeval, 168, 169, 

177, 187, 193, 224. 
First Day, Tales of the, 219. 
Fitzstephen, William, 21, 56. 
Fitzurse, Reginald, 66, 67, 73, 

74, 75, 81. 
Flanders, Count of, 59. 

Invasion from, 96. 
Flinthouse Farm, 135, 298. 
Foliot, Gilbert, 27, 36, 38, 46, 56, 

60, 98. 
Fourth Day, Tales of the, 270. 
France, King of, 61. 
Franklin, the, 169, 170, 271. 
Franklin's Tale, The, 272. 
Friar, the, 193, 194, 256, 258. 
Friar's Tale, The, 190, 198, 200, 

259. 
Froyle, 126, 127. 



Gatton, 134, 298. 
Gifts at the altars, 287. 
Gillingham, rood of, 93, 266. 
Giles' Hill Fair, St, 114. 
Glanville, Gilbert, Bishop, 249. 
Godalming Road, 132, 297. 
God-begot House, 115. 
Godmersham, 140. 
Godstone, 135. 
Gomshall, 134. 
Gravelines, 59. 
Gravelly Hill, 135. 
Greenwich, 233, 234. 
Grim, Edward, 4, 75, 76, 87, 

88. 
Grimbald, St, 116. 
Griselda, story of, 261. 
Guestenhall, Winchester, 115. 
Guild of Holy Cross, 172, 291. 
Guilds, 172. 

Guildford, 132, 133, 294, 296. 
Gundulph, Archbishop, 251, 

265. 



H 



Haberdasher, the, 171. 
Hailing, 136, 249, 301, 309. 
Hamelin, Earl, 58. 
Harbledown, 140, 275, 279, 304. 
Harrietsham, 139, 303. 
Hatcham, Surrey, 147. 
Hatfield, Yorkshire, 142, 150. 
Headbourne Worthy, 114, 117. 
Helix pomatia^ 308. 
Henry H., 2, 4, 6, 12, 13, 15, 30, 
32, 41, 97, 140, 268, 278, 
281, 289. 
Confiscates Church property, 

60. 
Entertained at Canterbury, 

_ 42. 
Grief at news of murder, 94. 
Penance, 96. 
Personal character, 19. 
Popularly condemned for 

murder, 95. 
Quarrel with Thomas at 

Northampton, 45, 52. 
Threatened by pope, 61. 
Henry of Winchester, 7, 10, 11, 

27, 36, 37, 53- 
Prmce, 37, 42, 62, 63, 65, 95, 96. 
HI., 105. 

IV, 148. 

V, 267. 

VII, 287. 

VI I I, 93, 107, 286, 288. 
Herbert of Bosham, 56. 
Hereford, Bishop of, 60. 
Hermitages, 127. 

Hog's Back, 131, 296. 
Holybourne, 126. 
Hollingbourne, 139, 303, 
Host, the, 155, 225, 228, 229, 
233, 242, 253, 255, 257, 260, 
264, 270, 272, 276. 
Hostels, mediaeval, 224, 232, 252. 
Hugh de Mortimer, 25. 

Of Horsea, 76. 
Huitdeniers, Osbern, 6, 7. 
Hulme, Abbot of, 31. 
Hyde, Abbey of, 114, 115, 291. 

Abbot of, 224. 



INDEX 



?>^7 



I 

Ifield, 249. 

Industries flourish under 

Thomas, 25. 
Ingress Abbey, 310. 
Innocent II., 11. 
Interdict threatened, 62. 
I slip, Simon, Archbishop, 136. 
Itchen Abbas, 117, 295. 
Stoke, 117, 296. 

J 

James of Compostella, St, 90, 

164, 
Joan de Westhale, 141. 
John of Gaunt, 142, 145, 146,285. 

Of Oxford, 63. 

Of Sahsbury, 6, 12, 13, 68. 

The Baptist, St, 139. 

The King's Marshal, 51, 52. 
Josse, St, 116. 
Judoc, St (see St Josse). 

K 
Kemsing, 135. 
Kent, Earl of, 24. 

In the Pilgrims' times, 220. 

Sheriff of, 51, 63. 
Kingsworthy, 117. 
Kit's Coty House, 303. 
Knaresborough. 78. 
Knight, the, 15'r, 156, 157,245, 

255. 
Knight's Tale, 156, 157, 245, 255. 
Knights of the Shire, 146. 



L'Aigle, Richer de, 4, 6, 7, 20. 
Lambeth Palace, 103. 
Lanfranc, Archbishop, loi, 279. 
Langland, William, 283, 286. 
Langton, Archbishop, 105. 
Leeds, Kent, 301. 
Legation of all England, 50. 
Leicester, Earl of, 31. 
Lenham, 46, 139, 303. 
Lichfield, 131. 
Limiter, the, 193, 195. 
Limpsfield Lodge, 135. 



Lincoln, Bishop of, 31, 45, 46. 
Lionel, Prince, 142. 
Lisieux, Bishop of, 46. 
London, Bishop of, 31, 63. 
London Bridge, 147, 224. 
Louis VII., 25, 59, 107. 
Lowell, James Russell, 151. 
Lucy, Bishop, 117. 
Ludolf of Magdeburg, 6. 
Lymne, 305, 312. 

M 
Maidstone, 136, 137, 292, 301. 
Maidstone district, map, 302. 

All Saints' Church, 137. 
Maison Dieu, Ospringe, 268. 
Mailing, 301. 

Abbey, 137. 
Man of Law, the, 241. 
Man of Law's Tale, 151, 244. 
Manciple, the, 276. 
Manciple's Tale, The, 276. 
Marden Castle, 135. 
Marta, Chapel of St, 133, 134, 

297, 309. 
Martyrdom, the, 66. 
Martyrsworthy, 117. 
Mary-in-the-Strand, St, 9. 
Mauclerc (Hugh of Horsea), 76. 
Maiideleyne^ ship, 164. 
Medway, 137, 246, 247, 250, 266. 
Mercenaries disbanded, 24. 
Merchant, the, 162, 263. 
Merchant's Tale, The, 264. 
Merchants, travelling, 127, 161. 
Merstham, 134, 298. 
Merton College, Oxford, 147. 
Merton, Surrey, 3. 

See Robert. 
Messengers, 139. 
Micheldever, iii, 139. 
Midlands, rebellion in, 96. 
Miller, the, 181, 182, 232. 
Miller's Story, The, 232. 
Miracles, 4, 58, 72, yy, 78, 80, 
82, 85, 96, 98, 135, 136, 137, 
138, 205, 250, 265, 290. 

Examined and recorded, 86. 

Methods of St Thomas's, 90. 

Repudiated, 85. 



3i8 



INDEX 



Mole River, 134. 
Mollash, 304. 
Monk, the, 190, 191. 
Monk's Tale, The, 245, 257. 
Monasteries suppressed, 289. 
More, Sir Thomas, 288. 
Mundham, Sussex, 51. 
Murder reported to the pope, 93. 
Murderers excommunicated, 95. 

Favoured by Henry II., 78. 

Leave France, 66. 

N 
Newark, Abbey of, 131. 
Norman Conquest, 116. 
North country words, 142, 150. 
North country men, 235. 
Northampton Council, 45, 51. 
Nun's Priest, the, 189, 246. 
Priest's Tale, The, 247. 



Odo, Prior, 80. 

Old Wives' Lees, 304. 

Omer, St, 11, 12, 59. 

Monastery near, 59. 
Ordnance Survey, 293. 
Osbert, the chamberlain, 80. 
Ospringe, 228, 265, 268, 278. 

Maison Dieu, 268. 
Otford, Kent, 9, 135, 288, 300. 

Archbishops' palace, 135, 2i 

St Thomas's Well, 135, 



Palace, Archbishop's, Charing, 

139. 

Otford, 135. 

Wrotham, 136. 
Pardoner, the, 196, 201, 202, 

254. 
Pardoner's Tale, The, 254. 
Parson, the, 242, 277. 
Parson's Tale, The, 155, 277. 
Peasant Revolt, the, 239, 285. 
Pesthouse, 297. 
Petrarch, 261. 
Pewley Hill, 134, 297. 
Piers Plowman, 283. 
Pilgrims, by sea, 166, 



Pilgrims, celebrated, 107. 

Hospice for, Maidstone, 137. 
Pilgrims' gate, Winchester, 116. 

Chapel, Rochester, 250. 

Door, Winchester, 115. 

Fairs, 107. 

Flasks, no. 

House, 125, 135, 299,300,309. 

Laws, 166. 

Lodge Farm, 135, 299. 

Outfit, no. 

Place, 296, 309. 

Salve, no. 

Snail, 308.. 

Staves, in, 128. 

Signs, 90. 

Way, the, 134, 136, 138, 249. 
From Winchester, 291, 293. 

Ways to-day, 293. 
Pilgrims and pilgrimages, 92, 

100. 
Pilgrimage from Winchester, 

108. 
Pisa, Cardinal of, 35. 
Pius IV., Pope, 210. 
Place-names, 309. 
Plague, the, 180. 
Plowman, the, 180. 
Pluralism, 41. 
Poets' Corner, the, 149. 
Poitiers, 142. 

Pontigny, Abbey of, 60, 69. 
Poor Parson of a Town, the, 

151, 210,214, 215, 
Pope, appeals to, 46. 

As mediator, 50, 60, 61. 
Portsmouth Road, 122, 134. 
Primacy of all England, 44. 
Prioress, the, 186. 
Prioress' Tale, The, 243. 
Puttenham, 296, 309. 

Church, 131. 



Quarry Hangers, 134. 
Quarter-staves, in, 128, 130. 

R 



Rebellion in Anjou, 25. 
Reeve, the, 183, 233. 



INDEX 



9 



Reeve's Tale, The, 150, 214, 234. 
Reformation, the, 282. 
Regale of France, 107. 
Reigate, 134. 
Relics, 205. 

Destruction of, 290, 291. 
Fraudulent, 102. 
Stolen for Peterborough, 102. 
Theft of, 10 1. 
Translation of, 105. 
St Thomas's at Alnwick, 
Bourbourg, Bury St 
Edmunds,Chester,Derby, 
Douay, Florence, Glas- 
tonbury, Lisbon, London, 
Mons, Peterborough, St 
Albans, St Omer, Temple 
Church, Verona, 102. 
Harbledown, 140. 
Rochester, 251. 
Reliquary of Christ Church, loi. 
Rheims, convocation at, 11, 12. 
Richard IL, 143, I45) 148. 
Of Canterbury, 8. 
Of Dover, 136. 

The Archbishop's chaplain,83. 
Richmond, Yorkshire, 98. 
Robert of Meiun, 6. 

Of Merton, 3, 67, 81. 
Robbers, 122, 127, 130. 
Rochester, 138, 228, 246, 247, 
250, 265, 303. 
Cathedral, 254. 
Walter, Bishop of, 35, 36. 
Roesa (see Becket, Rose). 
Roet, Katherine, 143. 

Phihppa, 143. 
Roger Pont I'Eveque, 8, 11, 13, 

44. 
Rohesia (see Becket, Rose;. 
Roman roads, 114, 295. 

Snail, 308. 
Romsey, 108. 
Rood of Grace, Boxley, 137, 138, 

292. 
Ropley, 118, 296. 
Rotherfield Park, 122. 
Rouen, Archbishop of, 61. 
Rouncevale, 203. 
Rumbald, St, 138. 



Salisbury, Bishop of, 63. 

Earl of, 31. 

John of (see John). 
Saltwood Castle, 60, 64, 66, 67, 

68, 70, 11, 312. 
Sandwich, 59, 63, 69, 305, 312. 
Saxon churches, 118. 
Scots' invasion, 96. 

King of, 98. 
Scogan, Henry, 148. 
Scrip and staff, blessing of, T12. 
Sea-faring pilgrims, 166. 
Seale, 131, 296. 
Second Nun, the, 189, 190. 
Second Nun's Tale, The, 273. 
Sens, 60, 61. 
Sergeants-at-arms, to protect 

traders, 122, 128. 
Sergeant of the Lawe, the, 167. 
Shere, 134, 297. 

Shipman, the, 163, 164, 178,242. 
Shipman's Tale, The, 242. 
Shoelands, 296, 309. 
Shrines, popular, 92. 
Silchester, 295. 
Simon FitzPeter, 43. 

Of Sudbury, 286. 
Singlewell, 249. 

Sittingbourne, 228, 257, 260, 267. 
Snodland, 301. 
South Mailing, H. 
Southampton, 97. 
Southwark, 223. 
Springhead, 248, 310. 
Squire, the, 159, 160, 270. 
Squire's Yeoman, the, 161. 
Staff and scrip, blessing of, 112. 
Stafford, 131. 
Stanley, Dean, 103. 
Stephen, 12, 16. 

Anarchy during reign of, 22. 

Death of, 13. 
Stone Street, n, 312. 
Stratford-on-Avon, Guild, 291. 
Straw beds, 119. 
Strood, 249. 

Summoner, the, 196, 197, 199, 
256, 259. 



320 



INDEX 



Supremacy, Royal, 23, 30, 41, 

44,47, 51, 57. 
Act of, 288. 
Swithun, St, 109, 115, 119. 



Tabard, the, 223. 
Tailed men of Strood, 250. 
Tapiser, the, 171. 
Tatsfield Church, 298. 
Teutonic knights, 158. 
Theobald of Canterbury, 7, 8, 10, 
II, 12, 16,27,29, 32,34,45- 

As Regent, 13. 

Death of, 13, 16. 
Thiersy, 7. 

Third Day, Tales of the, 253. 
Thornham Castle, 139. 

Church, 139, 303. 
Thomas (k Becket) acclaimed as 
Saint, 82. 

Of Acre, 158. 

Ambassador to France, 25. 

Appeals to King's mercy, 62. 

Appeals to Rome, 54, 56. 

Appointed Archdeacon of 
Canterbury, 9, 13. 

Archbishopric offered to, 34. 

Attempts to leave country, 51. 

Bells named, 103. 

Benedictine, 83, 84. 

Benefices of, 31. 

Blood of, 82. 

Born, I. 

Burial of, 84. 

Canonisation of, 94. 

Became Chancellor, 18. 

Chapel of, 279. 

Character, 3, 4, 6, 8, 14, 15, 
16, 17, 37, 58, 69. 

Charities, gifts to, 38. 

Condemned by the Council, 
52. 

On the Continent, 9. 

Cult of still remaining, 103. 
Fall of, 282. 

Disbands mercenaries, 24. 

Dismantles castles, 24. 

Education of, 3, 5, 9. 

Embassy to Rome, 11, 12. 



Thomas, entertains the King, 42. 

Feast of, 94. 

Flees the country, 59. 

Founder of Courts of Chan- 
cery, Common Pleas, and 
Exchequer, 33. 

Frescoes of, 134. 

Friends exiled, 60 

Gratitude to teachers, 4, 6. 

Jubilee of, 286, 287. 

Justice-itinerant, 25. 

King's charges against, 52. 

Last sermon, 64. 

Lavish household, 22, 25, 37. 

Legation given to, 61. 

Legends of, 2. 

Loyalty to the master of the 
moment, 15, 29, 32. 

Martyrdom, 66. 

Martyrdom anticipated, 47, 
55, 64, 67, 69, 72. 

Says mass, Northampton, 55. 
As military leader, 26, 52. 

Minor orders, 9. 

Miracles, 4, 58, 72, 80, 82, 85, 
96, 98, 135, 136, 250, 290. 

Nightingales silenced by, 135. 
Offerings at shrine, 94. 
Opposition to, 8, 20, 27, 39, 43. 
Opposes King, 31, 34, 37, 42. 
Order for arrest, 65. 
At Oxford, 9. 
Palace at Otford, 135. 
Persecutor of the Church, 

27, 29, 38. 
Personality of, 9. 
Popularity, 53, 58, 63, 65, 73. 
Prebend of St Paul's, 9. 
Preparation for death, 67. 
Prophesies, 46. 
Provost of Beverley, 9. 
Quarrels with King, 45, 52. 
Reading, consecrated the con- 
ventual church at, 51. 
Reconciled with King, 42, 62. 
Recreations of, 19. 
Relics of, 94. 

Burned, 290. 
Saracen mother, 2. 
Schoolfellows of, 6. 



INDEX 



321 



Thomas, school in London, 5. 
Self-mortification, 38, 67, 81, 

83. . 

Self-sacrifice, 74. 

Sport, love of, 4. 

Summoned as a criminal, 51. 

Summoned after death, 289. 

Supported bv Anglo-Saxons, 
65. 

Translation of, 105, 283. 

Vision of the Virgin, 3, 5. 

Visions of, 87, 136. 

Water of St, 87, 98. 

Well of, 135, 305. 
Tinker, a travelling, 119, 
"Tin Road," 30s. 
Tisted, East, 122, 296, 
Titsey, 135. 

Park, 299. 
Tonbridge, 43. 
Tower of London, 25, 52. 
Tracy, William (see de Tracy). 
Translation of St Thomas, 105, 
283. 

Feasts of the, 134, 288, 289. 
Travel, speed of, 228. 
Trinity, Feast of the, 37. 
Trotterscliffe, 136, 300. 
Tuesday, fateful day, 69. 
Tyler, Wat, 239, 287. 
Tything Farm, 134, 297, 309. 

U 

Ulster, Countess of, 142. 
Undercroft, Our Lady of the, 84. 
Urban V., Pope, 210. 

V 
Valentine, St., 116. 
Verona, 102. 

W 
Walter of Canterbury, 8. 
Ware, 203, 235. 
Watering of Thomas, 229, 280. 
Watling Street, 221, 223, 237, 
248, 286, 310. 



Watts, the late G. F., 132, 296. 
Waverley Abbey, 131. 
Way Pool, 134, 297, 309. 
Weaver, the, 171. 
Westcott Heath, 134. 
Westerham, 135. 299. 

Hill, 299. 
West Mailing, 137. 
Westminster, 147, 148. 
West Thurrock, 310. 
Westwell, 140, 303. 
Wey, river, 126, 133. 
White waysend, 131. 
Wife of Bath, the, 151, 173, 
214, 256. 

Bath's Tale, The, 256, 258. 
William the Conqueror, 23, 30, 

31- 
William of York, 11. 
William d'Ipres, 24. 

De Eynsford, 44. 

The Englishman, 104. 

Fitz Nigel, 71. 

The Lion, 99, 103. 

A monk, 87. 

Of Sens, 104. 
Winchester, 65, 108, 114, 139, 
249, 295. 

Bishop of, 36. 

Relics, 115. 
Wolvesey Palace, 115. 
Woodstock, council at, 42. 
Worthies, the, 117. 
Wotton, 134, 297. 
Wrotham, 137, 300, 301. 
Wycliffe, John, 285, 287. 



Yeoman, the Squire's, 161. 

Canon's, 216, 217, 275, 279. 
Yeomen of Kent, 221, 223. 
Yews, 307. 

York, Archbishop, 30, 44, 46, 62, 
85. 

Roger of, 56, 63, 65. 
Yorkshire, rebellion in, 96. 
Young King, the, 37, 42, 62. 63, 
65, 95, 96. 



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10/6 Net. Post Free 11/- Foreign 11/3, 

SHAKESPEARE'S TOWN AND TIMES 

By H. SNOWDExX WARD and CATHARINE WEED BARNES AVARD 

Fellows of the Royal Photographic Society, and Editors oj " The Photngram." 

The Review of Reviews : — "A delightful volume." 
The Standard : — '* The authors succeed admirably." 
The Saturday Review : — '' We can heartily recommend the book." 
The Scotsman : — " . . . The book will be prized by all." 
The Morning Advertiser: — ". . . A most pleasant, attractive, and 
fascinating volume." 

The Literary World : — " A beautiful book . . . the price is extra- 
ordinary." 

The People :— '' . . . No praise could be too high . . . Exactly the sort 
of thing for presentation purposes." 

The Birmingham Gazette : — "A charming volume ... of no ordinary 
character . . . the possessor of it has a treasury of facts about Shakespeare." 

The Times : — " . . . Written with adequate knowledge, illustrated with 
plenty of photographs representing objects of the highest interest which are 
less known than they should be." 

LONDON j PHILADELPHIA 

DAWBARN & WARD, LTD. | THE J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO. 



Crown 4to. With a Steel Plate Portrait, Three Photogravures, and upwards of Two 
Hundred Illustrations in Half Tone 

10/6 net. 

THE REAL DICKENS LAND 

The Globe : — " Mr and Mrs Ward have had a delightful subject, and 
they have made the most of it." 

The Times : — " Uniform with ' Shakespeare's Town and Times,' by the 
same capable photographers and writers." 

Mr Robert Barr in The Idler : — " Mr H. Snowden Ward is probably 
the greatest living authority on Dickens localities." 

The Standard : — " The work has never been done so thoroughly and 
comprehensively as m ' The Real Dickens Land.' " 

The Field : — " A wonderfully complete, painstaking, and accurate survey 
of every corner in England which Dickens visited and described." 

The Daily Chronicle : — " The authors have been very successful in 
identifying interesting nooks and corners. ... An excellent index concludes a 
most readable volume." 

LONDON J PHILADELPHIA 

CHAPMAN & HALL, LTD. I THE J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO. 



\' 



THE PILGRIMAGE SERIES 

LARGE CROWN OCTAVO, CLOTH, GILT TOP, ILLUSTRATED 
EACH Q SHILLINGS 


THE SCOTT COUNTRY 

By the Rev. W. S. CROCKETT 


" The aim of this attractive and finely-illustrated 
book is to conjure up the wealth of literary associa- 
tion, as well as to describe the singular charm of 
the scenery of a region which the author Of the 
Waverley Novels has for ever rendered classic. 
Few men are better versed than the parish minister 
of Tweedsmuir in all that relates to this cradle- 
land of Scottish romance."— r/ie Spectator. 


THE BURNS COUNTRY 

By C. S. DOUQALL 


" ' The Burns Country ' ranks as one of the best 
of a delightful series The book is a fascin- 
ating record of leisurely pilgrimages by stream 
and country lane, such as Burns himself loved to 
make, and its pages are instinct with the freshness 
of the country. The illustrations are of exceptional 
interest and merit."— ,S( James's Gazette. 


THE DICKENS COUNTRY 

By F. G. KITTON 


The present work is an endeavour to trace the 
footsteps of Dickens himself, and to point out the 
direct personal associations of " Boz " with various 
towns and localities in Great Britain, beginning 
with his birthplace at Portsmouth (now a Dickens 
Museum), and concluding with interesting details 
concerning his favourite home at Gad's Hill. 


THE 
CANTERBURY PILGRIMAGES 

By H. SNOWDEN WARD 


This book should be valued alike by the lover of 
literature, the student of history, and the holiday- 
maker ; for it gives an introduction to the poetry 
of Chaucer, a well-digested study of the life and 
the cult of St Thomas of Canterbury, and a descrip- 
tion of scenes along some of the most charming 
roads and lanes within reach of London. 


THE HARDY COUNTRY 

By C. Q. HARPER 


No attempt has been made solemnly to expound 
the novelist. He, I take it, expounds himself. 
Nor has it been thought necessary to exclude 
places simply for the reason that they by some j 
chance do not find mention in the novels. These 
pages are, in short, just an attempt to record im- 
pressions received of a peculiarly beautiful and 
stimulating literary country. 


THE INGOLDSBY COUNTRY 

By C. G. HARPER 


The Kentish Express says :— " In his best style 
—a style that fascinates— Mr Harper describes the 
various places covered by the ' Ingoldsby Legends.' 
Not a spot does he miss, not a village or hamlet, 
and the text is interspersed with illustrations." 


THE THACKERAY COUNTRY 

By LEWI5 MELVILLE 


The "Thackeray Country" treats of locahtits 
which are of primary interest to those who are 
acquainted with the life and writings of the great 
novelist. Mr Melville deals with Thackeray's 
London homes and the salient features and associ- 
ations of their neighbourhood, giving special atten- 
tion to those places that are made the background 
of well-known scenes in the novels. He is careful 
to give all the biographical information connected 
with Thackeray's residence from his arrival iu 
England from India at the age of six until his 
death. 


PUBLISHED BY ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 







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